


Spiting the Sun

by Chigrima



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Afghanistan, FrostIron - Freeform, Implied Torture, Imprisonment, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 16:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 52,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chigrima/pseuds/Chigrima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What the <i>hell</i>?” Tony stared. It was <i>Loki</i> up there on the screen, face streaked with dirt and blood, hair tangled, glaring bloody murder into the camera. On his knees, in an ugly too-big t-shirt, looking like he’d been though seven kinds of hell.<i> Loki.</i></p>
<p>One does not cause mayhem without consequences; Loki takes the plunge and finds himself powerless in an alien and inhospitable part of Midgard. And this is only the beginning of his troubles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Returning to Asgard was every bit the pain he had imagined. The distaste in Heimdall's gaze as they arrived on the ruined Bifrost. The stares and whispers as Thor dragged him through the streets. The cold seeping dread at arriving at the gleaming castle gates and knowing this was no longer home. The hallways themselves seemed to echo disdain.

 

He had feared they would take him directly to the dungeons deep in the bedrock below. There were things down there better not mentioned in the light of day. Things that had been imprisoned long, long ago. Some would say it would be a fitting place for a traitorous prince.

 

But no. Thor was a silent and stony presence behind him, herding him along. Their way led upwards and inwards. The throne room. He steeled his resolve and held his head high as his brother led him across the endless expanse of floor. At least Thor allowed him some small dignity and removed the hand around his arm, letting him walk on his own. 

 

He did not let his gaze shy away from the old man on the throne, didn't let his eyes betray the surge of bile and anger and desperation and longing that crashed through him for an instant before he ruthlessly suppressed it all.

 

Odin. The greatest liesmith of them all.

 

The one blue eye was as piercing as always, but Loki knew he could deceive it, had done so before. He dragged anger and bitterness from his heart, wrapped it around him like a cloak. It was not he that deserved to stand here, chained and muzzled like a dog. Not he that had started the endless wheel of lies and deceit and betrayal. He would not bend his backs nor his knees to that _man._

 

Silence filled the great hall.

 

Finally, Odin spoke, his voice low and heavy and filling the empty space of the room. ”My son.”

 

Loki's eyes flashed in denial.

 

Odin paid him no heed. ”My son. You have committed treason against house and hearth. Brought death into your very father's chambers. Fanned the flames of war, and laid ruin to two of the nine realms. You have lost your honour, my son.”

 

Had Loki had his voice, he would have roared in rage. Screamed that such a honourless being as Odin was ill suited to judge others. Asked why the lives of frost giants and mortals mattered one whit to the aesir.

 

But he was silenced, and so he stood there, back straight and muscles tense, staring stonily back.

 

Odin rose from his throne, slowly walking down the dais. His strength came with him, crackling the air around him, gathering like storm clouds. It pressed against Loki's mind like a living thing, snaking and twisting its way through the room.

 

With a deep, sad sigh – such _profound_ feelings for this Jotun war trophy – heavy hands came to rest on his shoulders. ”You must face justice for that you have done. For the lives you have taken, for the chaos you have wrought.”

 

The one eye sought his and he hoped the King could read the contempt in his gaze.

 

It appeared he could, because Odin sighed again, pained, and his eye flickered briefly away, down. When it returned, there was steel in it.

 

Despite himself, Loki swallowed behind the gag.

 

”I cast you out, Loki Odinsson.” Power surged into Odin's voice until it boomed though the hall, making the very walls tremble. ”I take from you all I have given! You are no longer a Prince of Asgard.”

 

One hand, impossibly strong, tore the armoring off his coat. It disintegrated into the vortex of power building up around them, whipping the air into a frenzied, boiling whirlwind. He stumbled, but the merciless grip on his shoulder held him upright as Odin ripped into leather and metal both. The chains were wrenched from his wrists and thrown to the wind. The hateful muzzle went the same way. Loki could only scream as Odin's hand seemed to reach though flesh and bone, into the very core of him, and rip something out.

 

It was over as soon as it had begun. Retching and gasping, he fell to his knees, vaguely aware of Thor's agitated voice shouting behind him. Strong, callused hands came to support his shoulders and he swatted them away, glaring daggers.

 

His body felt like lead. It was an almost insurmountable task to struggle back to his feet. ”What have you done to me?” 

 

Odin turned his back, started to walk away. ”I have deemed you unworthy.”

 

Loki seethed. ”I am not your subject, king of the Aesir.”

 

”That is not for you to decide.” Odin had reached his throne, and stretched out a hand to retrieve the spear leaning against it. Gungnir. Loki felt his mouth turn to ash.

 

The king turned, and suddenly he seemed old, a grief in his eyes that Loki could neither deny nor comprehend.

 

”Father!” It was Thor, stepping forwards, eyes seeking Odin. ”Spare him, father. He is still my brother. I implore you.”

 

_I don't need your pity._ The words was forming on Loki's tongue, but Odin forestalled him. ”Thor. I will not seek his life.”

 

Thor frowned, not wholly convinced, but Loki's eyes were drawn to the spear in Odin's hand. It crackled with energy, flashes of it appearing along the blade. Flowing lines of pure light. 

 

Yet Loki saw no magic gathering around it, felt nothing caress his mind.

 

Realization of his loss hit him like a red-hot spear to the guts even as Odin raised Gungnir over his head and the flashes of light exploded to fill the entire room. Stunned, he could only stare as his father took aim.

 

”I cast you out! May the fates have mercy on you, my son.”

 

Somewhere, Thor was shouting again. All Loki could see was the radiance in Odin's hand, growing to fill his entire world. It hit him in the chest with the weight of a mountain and he fell, tumbling over and over again in the blinding light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Have patience with me and I promise Frostiron before the end and gratuitous amounts of Loki suffering all over.  
> There will be new chapters every week, so stay tuned!
> 
> A big thanks to HurricaneIslandheart for setting me up here, and to everyone who offered me invites!
> 
> I also post on my tumblr; http://chigrima.tumblr.com


	2. Trial by Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is delicious fan art! The amazing Spiting the Sun Poster made by the wonderful Silvy:  
> http://silvestris.deviantart.com/art/Spiting-The-Sun-314081187
> 
> Honestly, it's more than I deserve. <3
> 
> My tumblr: http://chigrima.tumblr.com/

He fell. It could have been for the briefest of moments or it could have been for thousands of years, he couldn’t tell. The white light surrounded him as he tumbled and spun, out of control, ever downwards. Inside, he was numb, unfeeling.

 

***** 

 

The whiteness abruptly winked out of existence around him. Reality revealed itself; a dark sky and faint twinkling stars stretching away above him. And below, too far below, dark ground waiting hungrily for him. Gravity took hold and suddenly he was plunging down, watched the ground rise to meet him, impossibly fast. He didn’t remember the impact.

 

***** 

 

He awoke to find the sun rising over the horizon and his entire body screaming in pain. Gasping, he curled up into himself, just lay there and felt the first creeping warmth of the sun touch him. It hurt. It hurt worse than it had done after the monster had smashed him into the floor. Concentrating on his breathing, he willed himself to heal, motionless in the sand.

 

Where was he? To which desolate realm had he been flung? He must get to his feet and discover what kind of purgatory his _beloved father_ had sent him to. Just sitting up shot sharp spikes of pain through him, and he grit his teeth, dragging himself to the edge of the sandy crater he had caused upon his landing. Sharp nuggets of melted sand dug into his palms.

 

Beyond the edge of the crater, sand stretched out in all directions. He had landed near the top of a dune; below a desert rose and fell in soft curves. Broken rocks littered the baked ground. Far away the outline of mountains painted a black line against the horizon. The sun had climbed higher and was now mercilessly revealing the dead, bone-dry landscape.

 

He needed to get away from his impact site. He must have shone like a meteor in the night and any number of untold enemies might go searching to find out what had fallen from the sky. But his body seemed to refuse to heal; its complaints stubborn and not receding as they should. With a sense of foreboding growing in his chest, he recalled the last moments in the throne room, how he had been unable to sense the magic Odin had spoken.

 

Warily, he reached out, mumbling spell words, mind fumbling as it sought the power that was a part of his very being. It found nothing.

 

Snarling, he tried again, willing the magic to form in his hand. He concentrated until he shook with it, going through every spell his mind could recall with growing desperation.

 

Nothing. No illusions appeared over the sand, no shadows cloaked him, not even the ice came to him. His mind was as empty and as barren as the sand that surrounded him.

 

Laughter welled up inside him, hysterical and shrill and he bent forwards on his knees, face pressed against the rough sand, and laughed and laughed until his voice was gone and only hoarse breaths remained.  If there were any tears the sand swallowed them up, hiding them from sight.

 

Powerless, stripped of his magic, reduced to a mere _human_ ; Odin had a sense for cruel irony, it seemed. He supposed he should be grateful he had been spared the blue skin and red eyes of his true parentage. The thought tasted sour in his mouth.

 

So he had been sent to suffer the same fate as his brother, but this time there would be no hope of redemption beckoning on the horizon.

 

Brutally pushing all such thoughts away, he slowly stumbled to his feet. He needed to get away, to get moving.

 

*****  

 

He had not wandered long across the sand before his weak body failed him and he stumbled to his knees. The scraping pain as his legs met the rocks startled him. So much pain, for so small a thing? Grimly, he got back up. His mortal form would need water and nourishment soon, and neither would be found here. He pressed on.

 

It was the sun that turned out to be his greatest enemy. At first, he hadn’t even considered it; just briefly noted that at least his human eyes had light to see by. But it rose, slowly and steadily, and the heat rose with it. Soon the air around him shimmered with it. It leeched the moisture from his eyes and lips, made his throat dry as dust and turned every swallow into pain. His tongue felt swollen and leathery in his mouth. The sun beat his head with almost tangible blows, and before long he pulled off the tattered remains of his leather coat and wrapped the scraps around his head. His tunic was rent, too, open gashes across the arms and chest. The sand found its way inside, and inside pants and boots.

 

 

The sun had reached zenith when he finally collapsed, the heat forcing him to his knees. No shadow remained in the desert at this hour, and he huddled, trying to make himself small, to hide from the harsh light. He kept his mouth and eyes closed, waiting.

 

When the shadows finally appeared again, dark against the sand, he made himself rise and continue on.

 

And yet it wasn’t until the shadows had lengthened and he started to see an end to this day that the sun revealed its worst weapon.  It started as a heat across his neck and shoulders, no more than the warmth of the sun against his skin. But it grew. It stretched across whatever skin was exposed to the sun, and before long it burned. Looking at his arm, he was shocked to see angry blisters peppering bright red skin. How? Were humans so frail that the mere light of the sun could burn them?

 

Evidently. He tugged at his torn clothing, trying to cover the gaps as well as he could, but the damage had already been done. Trembling, he touched his face, feeling the pain bloom across his skin.

 

Burnt. By the _sun_.

 

Finally, sunset. He wanted to continue, realizing that the coolness of the night was a far better time to walk than the punishing heat of the day. But his body betrayed him once again, and he let himself sink down behind a rocky outcrop that offered at least some shelter. He had to rest. Even mortals healed with time. He’d rest, and then continue onwards.

 

The moon had not yet climbed halfway up the sky when he awoke, shaking with cold. It was such an alien sensation that it took him a panicked moment to put a name to it. His blistered skin burnt, yet he froze inside, the chill _aching_ , a worse pain even than the sun.

 

If he had needed any more proof that Odin had indeed taken everything from him, this was it. Now even the cold was an enemy, his cursed heritage stolen along with the rest of him. Nothing but a bitter sliver remained of Loki of Asgard.

 

Instinct told him to curl up tight, preserving what little warmth he had. Pathetic. Bitterly he endured, drifting in and out of exhausted unconsciousness.

 

*****

 

He started walking again as dawn approached. The mountains had drawn nearer now, and scraggly bushes dotted the sand around him as he walked into the shadow of the towering peaks. They rose to the sky, a confusing jumble of crevices, ravines and sheer drops. It was every bit as inhospitable as the desert, but he had to take a gamble, to hope that somewhere among those rocks could be found water and shade. Lying down to die was not an option he cared to entertain.

 

The sun was not yet tormenting him but the thirst had grown desperate during the night and now his throat was a single rasping dry hurt. His lips bled, cracked as they were by sun and wind. Despite himself, he lapped at the small wounds, trying to feel the trickle of fluid. He only succeeded in pushing salt into the fissures. It stung, another small pain.

 

Time passed. At last, he reached the foothills. The land had begun to rise towards the mountains. There was more plant life here, ugly and dry things. Insects, too, and he lacked even the strength to swat at the flies that swarmed around him.  A small lizard scurried across the sand. But no sign of water. Just the heat and the endless wasteland.

 

He couldn’t go on any further. The sun had almost reached zenith again and the shadows of the mountains were abandoning him. He found a small pit beneath a cliff face and slumped down, letting his eyes close and praying that once the time came, he’d find the strength to rise again.

 

*****

 

It was the sound that awoke him, a rumbling roar utterly at odds with this abandoned landscape. He pried his swollen eyes open and stared wildly around him, but saw only sunlit rock. The sound echoed against the cliffs, filling the air with clamour and making it impossible to pinpoint the source.

 

Whatever it was, it was angry, and coming his way.

 

Clinging to the rock behind him he struggled to rise. Before he had gained his footing it came, a covered car barreling around the cliff to his left and showering him in a rain of gravel and dirt. Shadowy figures jumped out into the dust cloud. More came from his right, cutting off any escape. Surrounded. In the swirling sand he could hardly see them as they rapidly closed in around him where he stood with his back to the cliff face.

 

They were human men, that much he could ascertain. Dressed in drab and bulky clothing, heads wrapped in cloth, they little resembled the uniformed soldiers he’d met before. But every man held a weapon like he knew how to use it.

 

He snarled and lifted his hands, preparing to fight.

 

He needn’t have bothered. Suddenly they were up in his face, strong hands grabbing him and throwing him forward even as something hard hit the back of his head. He fell flat on his face and got a flash-frozen view of a boot stamping down next to his eyes before they were on him, pinning him down.

 

Adrenaline pumped though him, giving him strength to twist and kick violently, but they were many, and he was weak. His arms were drawn back and hard metal cuffs was forced around his wrists. Once his arms were restrained behind him they lifted him roughly to his knees. The world went dark as a coarse cloth was tied over his eyes.

 

Panting, he knelt, jerking against the hands holding him. Exited voices jabbered all around him, but in his exhaustion he did not understand a single word. He tried to speak but the only sound coming from his parched throat was a squeaking wheeze.

 

They dragged him to his feet and half shoved, half carried him forwards. His shin hit a metal edge and only his captors’ grip kept him from falling helplessly. The car. They were getting him into the car.

 

They did, and disposed him on the floor like so much luggage. A firm foot in the middle of his back kept him down as they all climbed in around him, sometimes stepping on him in the confined space. The car roared back to life and took off over the uneven ground. The jarring ride jolted him around, smacking his skull against the floor and his body against the feet of his captors.

 

His head hurt, spots of light dancing before his eyes. The adrenaline that had kept him going seeped away and he just lay there, balancing on the edge of unconsciousness. Thought had become an impossible thing. There was only pain and the encroaching darkness.


	3. Refreshments

Steve and Tony relaxed together against a sunlit wall in downtown Manhattan, Steve still munching his way through a generous serving of shawarma. Tony looked slightly queasy.

“You just had to go for that again, didn’t you?”

 

“I must point out that it was your idea originally,” the Captain mildly replied, chewing through a chili and closing his eyes in pleasure. “And a good one, too.”

 

Tony snorted, shrugging in his armor and moving the helmet from one hand to another. “Not one of my brightest. It didn’t taste nearly as good coming up the next morning as it did going down, for some reason. Can you please move downwind?”

 

Steve grinned. “Don’t blame me for your hangovers.”

 

“I blame _you_ for getting addicted to the stuff and forcing me to relive that morning through regrettably realistic scent memory.”

 

“You shouldn’t have partied so hard.”

 

“You serious? We’d just defeated a god. Partying is _the_ appropriate response. But no, actually I didn’t even have a drink, it was just the unfortunate side-effects from, you know, the epic beating I took the day before.”

 

The street around them was busy with commuters streaming to their jobs in the early morning light, kids heading for school, construction workers diligently hammering away at the ever-present building sites. New York was rising again from the ashes. Not too far away, a crane was lifting the new glistening “K” up the façade of Stark Tower.

 

Steve nodded towards it. “Looking good.”

 

Tony grinned proudly. “It should, it’s mine. The very last piece. We’re turning the power back on tonight.”

 

“Good. People will like that.” Steve chewed down the last bite and deposited the empty wrapper into a garbage can. “Thank you for coming out on patrol with me tonight. I needed something to do.”

 

“And I needed getting back into the suit. Far too many meetings lately. Though I guess we should be grateful for the peace and quiet.”

 

They strolled slowly back toward Stark Tower, stepping around the heaps of building materials cluttering the streets.

 

“Speaking of, I wonder how Thor’s doing.”

 

Tony nodded. “Yeah, it’s sure not the same without M C Hammer around. Busy doing asgardian things, probably. Dealing with Loki must be a handful.”

 

“It’s been months.”

 

“Well, getting down here is a pain is the ass to pull off for his old man, or so he told me. He’ll stop by when he can.”

 

Steve nodded, grudgingly. “I suppose so.”

 

*****

 

Loki awoke with a start and a scream as wet coldness suddenly splashed over his head, gasping as the splitting headache returned with a vengeance. His heart raced in his chest so hard he felt it pound against his ribs.

 

Rivulets of water ran over his face. He lay sprawled on his belly, feeling rough sand under his cheek. He must have passed out in the car. Reflexively he opened his mouth and tried to catch the precious liquid, tongue desperately sweeping over cracked lips.

 

He could hear people around him, feet shuffling through the sand, hushed voices mumbling. He strained his ears to listen but it all melted together into an incomprehensible droning hum.

 

He heard gravel crunch underneath approaching feet and then he was manhandled to his knees, bound arms screaming in protest. The blindfold was yanked from his face. He squeezed his eyes shut against the glaring sunlight before slitting them open. Barren mountains surrounded him on all sides, hedging in what seemed to be a narrow valley. The humans stood gathered in a loose circle around him and the car in the middle of this wilderness. Why had they stopped here? There was no sign of habitation to be seen. Maybe they had recognized him as their would-be conqueror. Maybe they planned on just slitting his throat and have done with it.

 

Now that he saw his captors more clearly, it was apparent that this was a wholly new part of Midgard. Their clothes matched the landscape; brown and tan, some of it plainly patterned with camouflage in mind. What skin he could see was marked by wind and sun, and there was an air of rough and ready warriors about them, people used to hardships and battle. Not the kind of company Loki preferred even in the best of times. Even less in a time like this.

 

One of them stepped forwards and stood over him. A man with black hair and a cropped beard, holding a firearm that looked newer and better than those around him. The leader, clearly. He carried the scent of authority with him.

 

Loki stared up at him stonily, willing him to begin the game.

 

The man snorted and grabbed his hair, bending his head from side to side and staring with impunity. Loki hissed between clenched teeth but kept still. Finally his head was forced painfully back, leaving his throat exposed and vulnerable. The blue sky stretched away above him. He refused to break eye contact, refused to show fear.

 

The man’s other hand came into his view, now holding a battered plastic bottle. Slowly he tipped it forwards, letting a thin stream of water fall over Loki’s mouth and chin.

 

It felt wonderful, this tepid water. He opened his lips and greedily swallowed mouthful after mouthful, feeling it soothe his burnt face. The man studied him carefully, controlling the flow, setting the pace. A blatant show of dominance, but Loki was beyond caring. Let the man have this victory.

 

The bottle emptied far too soon, the last drops glittering tantalizingly in the sun as they fell. A flick of the wrist tossed it away for one of the men to pick up. The hand stayed tangled in Loki’s hair, keeping him bent backwards.

 

The man said something, his voice hard and demanding.

 

Loki realized with an icy shock that he did not understand a single word. It was yet another sickening revelation. He _always_ understood. There was not a language in the nine realms that he didn’t comprehend. It was part of his nature.

 

Yet another thing Odin had robbed him off, it seemed. _Of course_. The thrice-cursed _bastard._ Take speech away from the Silvertongue. A very fitting punishment. The knowledge curled in his guts like a slithering snake, making bile rise in his throat.

 

The man repeated his question, giving him a rough shake for emphasis.

 

What to do? Loki’s rattled mind cast around for ideas. He had spoken to mortals just a short while ago. The shape of the words still lodged in his mind, but that had been the language his enemies had used, and it didn’t sound like what this man spoke.

 

He tried it anyways, dredging up the words from his memory. “How dare you, you boorish creature?”

 

The man frowned as a murmur went up among their audience, eyeing Loki with what seemed like an affirmation of something in his eyes. He barked something in his alien tongue to his men and they broke up, milling around the site with new purpose.

 

Loki scowled. The man had not understood him, of that he was reasonably sure. But he didn’t like the glint in the man’s eye, the one that said that Loki had nevertheless revealed what he had wanted to know. But what?

 

The man suddenly yanked harshly at his hair, dragging him up to his feet and pushing him into the hands of the men behind him. He stumbled, glaring at them as they started to lead him away. Now that the circle of men had broken up he could see a dark opening in the cliff face, the mouth of a cave yawning open under a rocky overhang. His captors were disappearing inside, and he was made to follow.

 

The coolness of the inside was like a blow to his face, a stark contrast to the sunbaked outside. He caught the barest of glimpses of a car parked up against the wall before a man stepped up with a cloth in his hand and resolutely dragged it over his head, blinding him.

 

The men jostling him along were not gentle, and he stumbled between them through what felt like endless tunnels, around too many twists and turns for him to follow. Once or twice, they stopped and spun him around between them until he lost all sense of orientation and balance and hung in their grip like a broken doll.

 

Finally they halted and hands scrabbled over his wrists. The cuffs were unlocked and he was thrown forwards, barely catching himself even as a door was slammed shut behind him.

 

He yanked the cloth from his head and pushed himself up to sit. Darkness surrounded him; only a small, spluttering oil lamp illuminated his prison. His mortal eyes strained to make anything out, barely making it beyond the reach of his arm. But not much more was needed; the room was small, hewn out of the rock itself. Squinting, he made out the solid metal door behind him, smooth and foreboding. A pallet lay on the floor, filling nearly the entire space.

 

A jug stood next to the lamp. Grabbing it, he saw the flickering light reflected in water. He downed it all in one big gulp. It was not enough, but he knew that it would have to be. For now. He was beyond exhaustion. Dragging himself onto the pallet he collapsed and wrapped his arms around himself. He’d sleep now, and deal with tomorrow when the time came.


	4. Unwelcome Hospitality

When Loki awoke, the flickering lamp was still burning, still trying fruitlessly to illuminate the small room. There was no way to tell how long a time had passed, save that the oil had not been spent.

 

He sat up, wincing at the multitude of complaints from his mortal form. His skin still burned with every movement and when he lifted a hand to his neck, a handful of the skin came away with it as though were he a snake shredding its hide. Disgusting.

 

Wearily, he dragged his fingers over chest, arms and legs, prodding and cataloguing every ache. Scrapes and cuts, most of them, save a deeper pain in his ribcage that had not faded fully since his…landing. Even so, the water and the rest had gone some way to restore him. His head still hurt, but it was a smaller, shallower pain, one that he could bear.

 

Leaning his back against the wall he stared unseeingly into the small flame. He lived. He had survived. And now he was a prisoner, held by brutes who probably didn’t even recognize him for what he was. Dragged away and locked up, while mortals decided his fate.

 

A small part of his mind wondered bitterly whether the Allfather had specifically chosen this hellish place for him, or if he had been thrown down carelessly to land wherever he would.  Another small part hoped that they would at least see his true self, know his name, treat him in a manner fitting for his gloriously destructive acts. Wanted to feel their petty little hate.

 

It was a wholly unwelcome thought that their hate would mayhap not feel so petty when vented on this frail body of his.

 

Time passed as he sat in the gloom with only his thoughts for company, fretting over the future, silently raging over the past. Occasionally his mind would betray him and a memory would surface, agonizingly clear and cutting like a knife. _Give up this poisonous dream! Do you think this madness will end with your rule?_ And Odin in the throne room, calling him _my son_ while he was gagged and bound and unable to deny the lie thrown in his face.    

 

It was almost a relief when keys suddenly rattled in the lock, shaking him out if his brooding.

 

The door slammed open, giving way to a small horde of the drab warriors. They crowded into the room and trained their weapons on him as he sat against the wall. He coldly remained seated, refusing to be intimidated by their brutish show of force. One of them yelled at him, gestured towards the innermost corner, and when he still would not deign to give them a reaction two of them grabbed his arms and dragged him forward. They pushed and manhandled him until he was kneeling, hands on the back of his head, and he forced himself to be still and stiff and stare at the wall as the cold metal of a gun pressed against his temple.

 

He might not fear death, might even welcome it, but damnation if he would be shot on his knees like a dog.

 

They moved around behind him and then withdrew as quickly as they had appeared. The door slammed shut behind him. He twisted around to find himself alone. They had been here to see to his wellbeing, he noted with a harsh smile. A new lamp now stood on the floor, burning steadily. A jug of water next to it, and a bucket whose intended purpose filled him with a hot mixture of rage and relief. 

 

There was food too, a bowl of horrible unappetizing muck, but his mortal body was too starved to care. He wolfed it down, trying to ignore the taste. Almost immediately the peppery gruel made his split lips burn, as though touched by red hot coals, and he furiously refused to feel the pain. He'd had bones broken by sand, skin blistered by daylight - he would _not_ allow food to damage his mouth.

 

He settled back to sip the water and wait, green eyes lingering on the door.

 

*****

 

It turned out there was little enough to wait for. He was left alone in the claustrophobically small room, alone with his brooding thoughts and gnawing worries. Left to stare at the pattern of flickering shadows on the wall until he wanted to scream with frustration. He’d pace the room as well as he could, three steps in one direction and two in the other. When he could not stand it anymore, he would curl up on the pallet and fall into a restless slumber. There was an unforgiving chill in the air, making his sleep fitful and his body stiff.

 

He had no idea how long time he had been locked up, save that the hurts and the blisters had faded but not disappeared. He was filthy; there was never enough water to waste on even wiping his face clean. Though the drink had softened his cracked lips, the food had returned some small vestige of strength, it was never enough to slake his needs.

 

The guards would make their appearances when they would. He could not discern a pattern to their comings and goings; maybe there wasn’t one, or maybe he had lost all track of time in this sunless dungeon. They’d hammer on the door to alert him before barging in. He’d quickly understood they wanted him to await them in the corner, meekly kneeling. Proudly, stubbornly, he refused.  

 

They’d yell and shove and kick until they had him where they wanted. After the first few times, they used the handles of their weapons as clubs. It was unrefined and thuggish, but it sent him reeling down on hands and knees and it _hurt._

 

He glared up at them and cursed them in any language he could remember, shouting at the top of his lungs until they kicked him into silence. After they left, he tasted the coppery tang of blood in his mouth and laughed soundlessly into the pallet, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs.

 

Those curses should have had obliterated their small minds, filling their heads with nightmares and their hearts with frenzied horrors. If only.

 

And so passed his endless night, long stretches of inactivity punctuated by short bursts of violence. The small lamp never went out. The water and the gruel remained the same, unwelcome necessities for his survival. He grew to hate the sight of the stinking bucket with a vengeance. But most of all he waited, waiting for his captors to make their next move. Surely they would. Surely this was not all there would be, until time or mortal frailty claimed him?    

 

*****

 

The twelfth time the guards came, it was different. He could feel it in the air the moment they opened the door, something undefinable that prickled his skin.

 

It started out as any other visit. He had been pacing his prison when the hammering on the door came and awaited them standing, face a haughty mask. There was the shouting, the shoving, the brandishing of weapons – but when his arms were wrestled behind him and manacled he felt a small spark of excitement, of satisfaction.

 

He had been right. Something was different and finally, something was happening. He would not be left here to waste away.

 

The journey through the cave was as disorienting as last time. He did his best not to stumble, to stay upright, and finally there was light beyond the cloth over his eyes. Not the glare of the sun. Something softer.

 

He was pushed to his knees and the blindfold removed.

 

This cave was larger than his cell. Much larger, and someone had gone to the trouble of attempting the trappings of civilization. Carpets covered the floor, the rough walls were hidden by drapes. He looked over a low table to meet the eyes of the man settled on the other side.

 

They studied each other in silence, green eyes meeting brown. Several lamps gave a warm, steady light, and it illuminated a man with a strong jaw and long, grey-speckled hair tied back from his face. His gaze swept over Loki for a long minute, evaluating him, before the man clicked his tongue and returned his attention to the papers spread before him on the table.

 

The minutes passed by. Loki remained still. This was a game he played well. If the man thought a bit of waiting was going to make Loki nervous, he was sorely mistaken. 

 

“You are far from home, my friend.” The man spoke softly, not looking up from his work. Loki felt a small, hidden surge of surprise and relief. Finally, someone he could understand. Who could listen.

 

Loki had always been good at making people listen.

 

“I am,” he admitted, voice hoarse.

 

His host made a humming sound. “A lost little lamb, yes? Wandering around where it really shouldn’t. You should be glad we keep such good watch over the desert. You would be food for the vultures by now had we not found you.” The man looked up to give him a cold smile.

 

Loki summoned his best open, guileless face. “I am in your debt.”

 

“Indeed.” The pen was put down in the table. “So I would ask you, do not make this difficult for yourself, friend. Tell me what I want to know and you may yet see your family again.”

 

Inwardly, he cringed. If the fates were kind, he would not suffer his family ever again. Outwardly, he let the slightest hint of relief enter his face. “Of course.”

 

A pleased nod. “Then tell me, who do you work for? Who sent you here?”

 

Loki hesitated. What to say? Admitting to being the would-be King once sent here by Thanos would be folly, as long as it seemed he might yet walk free. The man stared at him intently, awaiting his answer. He would have to roll the dice and make a gamble.

 

“Nobody sent me.”

 

The man sighed, looking disappointed. “My friend, my friend! Don’t do this to yourself. If you came with one of the NGO’s, tell me, and I shall give them a generous prize for your freedom. If you came with one of the foreign companies, I shall not set the sum higher than they can pay.” He paused. “Are you a solider? That much better! Nobody pays better than the American army.”

 

The words raced around Loki’s head. So many unknown factors, so little time to take it in. The man wanted money for his freedom. Simple enough, could Loki only convince him there was money to be had.

 

“I told the truth. No one sent me here. I… came on my own.” He tried to stall, to come up with a lie convincing enough, one that would not expose his vast lack of knowledge about this place.

 

The man wasn’t having it. “You won’t tell me? I should have left you to die. Or do you have something to hide from me?” he was leaning forwards now, eyes blazing. “You’re a spy, you ungrateful little vermin! Tell me who sent you!”

 

Loki vigorously shook his head. “No!”

 

“Then tell me!”

 

Desperately, Loki reached for his magic, to sway the man in his favour. He found nothing. His mind was so slow, lack of proper food and rest weighing him down. He had no idea what to say, no lie that wouldn’t be shattered in moments. It was a jarring feeling.

 

Clenching his jaw, he glowered at the man in silence.

 

The man sighed and leaned back, looking him over with mocking disappointment. “You insult our hospitality, child. It is only you who will suffer for it. If kindness won’t make you speak, maybe other methods will loosen your tongue?”

 

He refused to answer, staring blankly back. Resentment seethed within him. Let this pathetic mortal do his worst. Loki of Asgard answered neither to him nor any other being on this world, and if he thought answers would be forthcoming, Loki would teach him otherwise.

 

“No? Then you have no one but yourself to blame. Maybe next time we meet, you will be more eager to talk.” He nodded to someone behind Loki, and strong hands lifted him to his feet. “They will take you to the Black Room, now. You won’t like it.”

 

With that, he returned to his papers, Loki dismissed from his thoughts. The guards dragged him away and the last thing he saw before the blindfold cut off his sight was the leers on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the nice feedback! I thrive on it, people. Love you!


	5. Not a Single Word

Loki lay panting on his pallet, breath harsh and uneven and echoing in his ears. He sucked in air like a dying man, wet hair plastered to his forehead. His lungs burned. Every gulp of air was another stab of pain. And yet he craved every mouthful, desperate for it, even if it hurt.

 

He had learned yet another new truth today, he grimly concluded. These humans could use water in ways it was surely never intended. Curling up, he grimaced when the movement made his stomach heave yet again. He at least managed to raise himself up enough to bend over the bucket before another mouthful of sour, cloudy water hit the bottom.

 

Groaning, he collapsed back down and wrapped his arms around himself. He was soaking wet, and the cold air made him shiver. How a simple bucket of water and a rag could do this to him, he had no idea, save that humans indeed were wretched and weak creatures and he would _kill_ them all when he had the chance.

 

It was a bleak pride that he had remained silent all the way through, save for a few heartfelt curses he had not managed to bite back. They had laughed at those, and poured more water. It felt like it had gone on for hours. Maybe it had, or maybe it was only human frailty speaking again.

 

Never mind. In the end they had given up. Or just tired of the game. One of them had promised him more later, in a broken speech he could barely understand.

 

He laughed hoarsely. How much more of this could his body really take? Surely it would perish soon, fail him long before he gave them a single word. He was no stranger to neither pain nor despair. He wowed to himself that these _beasts_ would get nothing from him, not a shred, not a whisper. He’d die first. Die, and hopefully his vengeful spirit would haunt them for the rest of their pitiful existence.         

 

His laughter slowly ebbed out into labored breathing. Staring into the small flame, he felt fatigue tug at the edges of his consciousness.  Sleep hovered before him like a promise of sweet release, the wakefulness beyond a looming threat. He gave in to it anyway, feeling himself pulled under. A stray thought slipped loose, twisting its way through the darkness, burning bright before snuffed out.

 

_I don’t want to die._

 

*****

 

He wasn’t brought back to meet the man in the room with the carpets, though he sometimes thought he glimpsed him among the crowd gathered around him as they plied their crude trade. It was hard to be certain. Time and space all too often blurred together into an incomprehensible jumble of hunger, hurt and exhaustion.

 

They were inventive, his captors, always ready with something new. When the water and the sense of drowning brought them nothing, they stopped forcing his head underwater. Instead, they beat him, skillfully enough, and hung him up in thin wires that cut like fire though wrists and fingers. They urged him to speak but he couldn’t tell, truthfully, if they wanted answers or just his pain.

 

He kept his silence through it all, and through the endless stretches of darkness in between when they locked him in his cell, without the light, without the water, without his clothing. He snarled at them, spat, howled in pain, lashed out with legs and teeth if they gave him the chance, but he kept his wow. They did not get a single word.

 

It was a cruel irony that they relished in the power of lightning. It burned though him worse than any fire, pure pain that sparkled and danced underneath his skin. They laughed and taunted as they dragged the metal rod over his body, the smell of burnt skin sickening. Once, they tied him to a metal frame and doused him in water before switching on the machine. He’d screamed until his breath gave out, sobbed wetly until the agony overcame him and he passed out. They’d awoken him with another bucketful to the face, and started over.

 

Now he was alone in the darkness again. If it had been hours or days, he had no idea. Long enough to have slept and awoken and slept again, and long enough for his throat to turn parched and raspy with thirst. How long was that for a human? He vaguely remembered Barton and Selvig, how they had craved sleep with every turn of the Sun. Two days, then. Or more? Or less? Did it matter? His skin felt feverish and icy by turns and his head swam. The mattress itched against his bare skin as he laid back down, trying to keep the room from spinning. Maybe it was all a lie. Maybe this was Odin’s true punishment and the charade in the throne room had been just for Thor’s consideration. Maybe the mortals had finally realized his name and now took their revenge, aiming only to make it as slow and agonizing as they could before it all ended.  

 

The next time they came, he shielded his eyes from the glaring light coming in from the hallway, stomach twisting with nervous anticipation. He refused to name it fear.

 

To his great relief, the guards didn’t lay a hand on him. Instead a tray was placed on the floor before they backed out, leaving him in peace for now. It was a bitter comfort to once again see the simple lamp. It illuminated the small room, the splotches of blood on the mattress, the grime covering his naked body.

 

There were other things on the tray, too. The familiar bowls of water and gruel, and he fell upon them like a starving animal and didn’t pause until he had licked them clean of every drop. And something else. A bundle of cloth.

 

Suspiciously, he shook it out to reveal a suit of clothing not unlike those of his captors, coarse trousers and a thin tunic in dull brown. He distrusted this kindness, but the cold chilled him to the bone. And it felt so _good_ to be dressed once again, to feel clean cloth against his dirty skin, an entirely false sense of safety within this shell.

 

He knew it to be part of the game.

 

Nevertheless, he took some comfort in it. They could hardly do worse than simply take it off his back again. And this meant… something. Probably a new audience, a new chance for him to show his _gratitude._

 

It was unlikely he’d manage any kind of deadly assault while chained on his knees, but he hoped the man would at least come close enough to spit on.

 

He gauged they would not be long in coming for him and he was right. The lock clicked and he sat with bowed head as they surrounded him. He’d save what strength he had. The more fools to them if they thought him weak and cowed.

 

It was an altogether too easy a ruse to pull off, now.

 

The familiar cuffs chafed his battered wrists and he scrambled to get his feet under himself, to take some weight off the bruised flesh as they made to drag him upright. The clothes hung loose on him. They would have been too big even before his imprisonment and now they swaddled his gaunt body. The blindfold covered his eyes and they were off, his bare feet protesting against the rough floor. Finally, the rock underneath his feet gave way to soft carpets, the nape tickling his soles.

 

The blindfold came off and he looked around to realize that the room was not as he remembered. A gathering of warriors loitered around him, some fussing over their weapons, others tackling a banner – red, with a coat of black circles – to the wall. Yet more were bent over pieces of midgardian technology. No one paid him much heed. He got the disorienting feeling of having stumbled in unwanted and uninvited.

 

“Ah. Finally.” It was a voice he remembered well, and he schooled his face into an empty mask as the grey-haired man turned around to lazily appraise him. One of his guards planted a shove in the middle of his back, sending him reeling, and it was with a fierce pride he managed to stay on his feet.

 

The man did not seem to mind, just reached out to grab Loki’s shoulder in a steady grip that sent his mind, unwillingly, back to Odin’s throne room. It took an effort of will not to snarl and try and wrench free.

 

“You have been amazingly stubborn, my friend.” There was reproach in his tone, deceivingly mild.

 

Loki turned his face away, refusing to answer. Not a word. A strong hand grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look back.

 

“One last chance, Englishman. Here’s what will happen now.” He gestured towards the men, who were lining up before the banner, covering their heads and faces with shawls. Before them Loki now recognized a video camera, in the middle of a nest to cables and wires. “We will make a recording, yes? And we will send it out, and you have better pray that someone out there values you enough to take notice. Maybe a name will come back to us, maybe we will figure out who sent you here. Or maybe we’ll get nothing, and we go back to prying answers out of your skin.” He leaned closer, his face a picture of fatherly concern. “We have been gentle, so far. There are far worse things we could do. Why make it so hard on yourself?”

 

Loki spat him in the face.

 

The man didn’t move as much as a muscle, just sighed and shook his head sadly as the first fist cracked against Loki’s skull from behind. He crashed to the ground and the guards surrounded him, fists pounding and booted feet kicking. He tasted copper and salt in his mouth. His vision swam, a haze clouding his eyes. He could see the man between the legs around him, wiping his cheek clean with a white cloth, impassively watching the beating go on. A vicious boot caught him in the barely healed ribs. Pain exploded through his chest. His scream was a pitiful thing, choked on blood and bile.

 

Finally, the man gestured, deeming the punishment enough. They obediently backed off and he rested his cheek against the carpet, gulping down air, coughing hoarsely. Voices above him spoke in languages he did not understand, and then he was grabbed, dragged, pulled to his knees in front of the banner and the masked men. The shiny eye of the camera stared him straight in the face, surrounded by glaring lights.

 

A nod from the leader and a man behind Loki began to talk, reading out loud, voice harsh and demanding. Grimly, Loki refused to back down, refused to drop his gaze, felt the blood trickle from nose and mouth and drip down his chin as he stared into the black lens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fan art from the lovely Silvy! Water in the Desert from Chapter Three: http://silvestris.deviantart.com/art/Water-In-The-Desert-315974820
> 
> Thank you for all your nice comments! They really make all of this so gratifying. <3


	6. Sex, Lies and Video Tapes (two out of three ain’t bad)

Tony was on the sixth R&D floor of Stark Tower, head inside a new arc reactor prototype and mind filled with improved circuits when Jarvis’ smooth voice cut through the music.

 

“Sir. A call from doctor Banner.”

 

Tony didn’t bother to look up, eyes focused on the clear point of light before him as he soldered the new circuit boards in place. “I’m busy. Tell him to come down here. It’s not like he’s incapable of walking down a few stairs.”

 

A pause. “I’m afraid he’s insisting, sir.”

 

“Well, so am I.” Just a few more adjustments, and he’d be able to take this baby for a spin.

 

But Bruce was not letting off. Suddenly his voice came loud and clear through the speakers. “-me through, Jarvis, I need to talk to him. Tony, are you there?”

 

Frowning, Tony put down the blow torch. “Why the hurry, Bruce? Is something up?”

If there was a situation, he was confident Jarvis would have informed him, but Banner didn’t usually use the in-house intercom system.

 

There was a tense edge to Bruce’s voice. “Come up to the lounge. I think you need to see this.”

 

Something _was_ up.

 

*****

 

He arrived in the lounge to find Pepper and Bruce before the flat screen TV – Stark Technology, the biggest and best to be found anywhere – both pale and drawn.

 

The footage on the screen was sickeningly familiar. He’d seen it before, the low-grade resolution, the harsh recital in Arabic, the man kneeling amongst a throng of captors. Even after all this time, it sent a jolt of rage-flavoured adrenaline through his system. Why were they watching this?

 

Then he realized the kneeling man wasn’t him. Realized he knew that narrow face and those burning eyes.

 

“What the _hell_?” Tony stared. It was _Loki_ up there on the screen, face streaked with dirt and blood, hair tangled, glaring bloody murder into the camera. On his knees, in an ugly too-big t-shirt, looking like he’d been though seven kinds of hell. _Loki._

 

“This just came off the Internet,” Bruce informed him, voice just a little too low and Tony could see the barely-there strain on his self-control. Bruce was rattled. “Your tracking program pulled it off one of the usual message boards. It’s from the Ten Rings.”

 

He hadn’t needed to tell Tony that. He could tell, could glimpse the flag in the background, and anyway that’s what his program was supposed to do, to trawl the web and find him any and all traces of those bastards. He’d liked to think of it as a precaution, but admitted revenge would be closer to the truth. Occasionally it found him a nugget good enough to pass on to Fury.

 

It had never brought him something like this before.    

 

Pepper was flustered too, a frown marring her beautiful face. “What are they up to? What is _he_ up to? He’s supposed to be in Asgard.”

 

“Well,” Tony said, still staring at the screen. “I’d say it’s safe to assume he’s not there anymore.”

 

“I thought the Ten Rings was all but eradicated.” Bruce said.

 

“So did I, but they still have a base or two in Afghanistan. Never got around to flushing them out. I suppose it’ll bite my ass now. Jarvis, translate.”

 

The computer hummed to itself for a second before an artificial voice overlay the video.

 _“-trespassing into our territory. Unless our demands are met, he will die a slow and painful death. Know that we do not lie. We demand, in US dollars_ -“

 

“Ransom? Pepper asked, flabbergasted. ”They are asking ransom for Loki? By releasing a home video on the Internet? What is this, a clearance sale? Have they any idea of how much some people would be willing to _pay?_ ”

 

Banner shook his head slowly. “They have no idea who it is they’ve got there, do they?”

 

Tony shrugged. ”Does it matter? Jar, have the jet ready for take-off in one hour. I want the Mark Seven shipped out and ready on board. Pepper, I need you to cancel all my appointments for the next few days.” He was already moving, kissing a protesting Pepper on the cheek, picking up the bracelets.

 

“You,” Bruce said flatly, ”are planning something stupid, aren’t you?”

 

Tony gave him his best grin. ”No, no, I’m being realistic here. Loki is playing some kind of game. SHIELD will see this video soon, if they haven’t already. Can you imagine a task force of SHIELD agents against Loki and whatever tricks he has up his sleeve? This is work for _us_ , for the Avengers. You and I, we need to get there before them. We can take him. No need to bother Fury with the obvious, so let’s just go, before some idiot tries to stop us.”

 

”I… suppose so.”    

 

“Knew you’d see things my way. Grab what you need from your room, see you in the garage in five.”

 

“We have no idea where they are.”

 

“It’s a ten hour plane ride. All the time I’ll ever need.”

 

*****

 

Bruce was sprawling in one of the luxurious seats in Tony’s private jet, watching Tony tapping away at his keyboard. The video had been uploaded at a jihadist-friendly message board run from Khartoum, but Tony was already hot on the trail, following the twisting paths the clip had taken before reaching that far.

 

“Shouldn’t we at least call the others? Steve will be disappointed to be left out.”

 

“You already called him,” Tony muttered. ”Right before you called Fury.”

 

Banner didn’t even have the grace to look guilty. “No need to bother you with the obvious, right?”  

 

“Oh, I depended on you, good doctor. What did Cap say?”

 

“ _Good luck_ , more or less. He’s on his way to the helicarrier in case we’ll need backup. Fury was rather less understanding.”

 

“Figured. I hope you told him to back off until we have done our thing.”

 

Banner nodded. “He’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”

 

Stark shot him a smile over the screen. “Pretty. Had it been me, he’d be gunning in just because it was, well, me.”

 

Bruce weakly retuned the smile, fingers fidgeting nervously on the armrest of his seat. “Tell me what we are up against, Stark. I’m getting antsy here.”

 

“Don’t. You’re doing great. Just see it as a chance to cut loose, will you?

 

Bruce mumbled something vague and doubting. Tony pulled up his files on the Ten Rings on the big screen. Words and pictures flashed by, intel spinning a complex web of information. Banner watched with interest. It always delighted Tony, the way he just took it in, instantly _understanding._

 

“The Ten Rings. Since my… _encounters_ with them a few years back put them in the spotlight in a bad way, they’ve been steadily losing influence and membership has been dropping dramatically.” He sighed in mock dismay. “Obadiah killed off most of their top guns. Best thing he ever did. They pulled back into the Afghan mountains to regroup, but never managed to pull themselves together. There’ve been one or two kidnappings of foreign relief workers and some minor skirmishes with local competitors, as well as a lot of internal backstabbing. Their current leader is one Istvan Szabo. He appears to be a bit less stupid than his immediate predecessor.” He nodded to a face on the screen, “That’s him.”

 

Banner studied the strong jaw and gray hair. “Nothing in here explains why they’re demanding ransom for a crazy Norse god.”

 

“I know.” Tony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Damn, I wish Thor were here! It’s just too much of a coincidence that Loki surfaces alongside with my old acquaintances. He’s up to something. Did you watch all of the hostage tape?”

 

“Yes. Seems like any other ransom video, not that I have seen a lot of those. No mention of him being, well… _him._ ”

 

“Do they think we’re _complete_ idiots? How could anyone miss the fact that this is _Loki?_ ”

 

“And that’s why you are going in alone,” Banner said, studying him intently.

 

Tony nodded grimly. “You bet. He’s not getting anywhere near either the helicarrier or New York this time.”

 

*****

 

Six hours later, they were rapidly approaching Afghanistan airspace and Tony had a fresh set of coordinates to a desolate stretch of barren mountains.

 

*****

 

“Are you sure about this?” Bruce asked, quietly. He was sitting on the edge of his seat, Tony noted, hands slowly clasping and unclasping.     

 

Tony was putting on the suit, the metal folding and rearranging itself around him.

“Sure. Stay here until I have asserted the situation, I’ll call you if – _when_ I need to get things smashed. Let me just make sure they don’t have any _actual_ hostages down there. After that, Loki is all yours.”

 

Bruce gnawed on his lip, and Tony wordlessly squeezed his shoulder in one armored hand.

 

The co-pilot was in the back room, hand on the handle of the hatch. He looked pale, but a guy didn’t work for Tony Stark without getting used to outrageous requests. Tony gave him a short nod. “Once I’m out, pick up altitude and keep circling. The doctor will follow me out later.” He snapped the face plate down, watching the displays light up. “And keep the champagne chilled for when I come back.”

 

He took a deep breath as the co-pilot wrenched the hatch open and threw himself out before any un-Stark-like second thoughts could get a word in. Felt the gut-wrenching free-fall for a short second before the thrusters kicked in and then he was flying, shooting towards the mountains below and all the nervous energy of the last day exploded into a glorious adrenaline rush.

 

He followed the HUD’s directions, going down low, following the dry valleys deeper into the hills. A thousand thoughts flitted through his head, strategies, memories and battle plans all jumbled together. He felt the exhilaration of battle build within him, mind suddenly as clear and sharp as a naked blade.

 

He was approaching the target zone now. A shell screamed past his ear, exploding against the sandy hill beside him. He whipped his head around to see a man in camo hunkering on a ridge. He was already aiming another round, bazooka on his shoulder. Guards at the canyon entrance. Made sense, he should’ve expected that. A blast of his palm repulsor and the man was gone, flying backwards in a shower of molten metal and red.

 

He rose higher. From up here, the gulley was exposed, the guard posts hidden among the surrounding rocks laid bare and open. The men could all see him now. They shouted and pointed, diving for their weapons or just for cover. He waited for them to make their decisions, gave them a chance to run.

 

Some did. Most didn’t.  He banked sharply to the side to avoid their bullets, responding with short blasts from his hands. It was a one-sided battle. His enemies’ whole strategy of holding the upper ground was useless against someone who could _fly._

 

Within a few minutes, it was all over. He paused in midair, panting, to survey smoking craters, sprawling bodies and abandoned posts. His heart beat a staccato inside his chest.

 

“Iron Man here. The outside is clear. I’m going in.”

 

The black hole of the cave entrance yawned open before him. Even as he swooped in closer, soldiers began to mill out, shouting in confusion, fumbling with their weapons. Bullets and shells streaked past him, a few ricocheting off his suit. He let his rockets lead the way, and barreled on in a rain of fire and death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs* So, yeah, sorry, no sex. Sorry. There will be some later? Hot, steamy, possibly a bit kinky?


	7. Putting the Party in Rescue Party

Loki was curled up on his side on the mattress when the door burst open. Before he was even awake, he was hoisted to his feet by clumsy, impatient hands. The guards dragged him outside and all but ran him down the passage.

 

There were shouts in the distance, he realized. Screams. The rumble of explosions. Men were rushing past, eyes wild. Fear hung in the air. His captors were under attack.

 

Adrenaline flooded his system. For the first time, he was neither manacled nor blindfolded. This was his chance. If he was to escape, now was the time. He let them pull him along, mind churning, waiting for fate to give him an opening.

 

*****

 

Tony was blazing though the maze of cave tunnels, cameras scanning, dealing death and destruction with his hands. Smoke and dust filled the air. His enemies were blinded. He was not. The HUD cut though the haze, heat vision overlaying the chaos. All they would see were his shining lights, mercilessly drawing closer. A man appeared before him, screaming in panic, gun uncontrollably spraying bullets. Tony didn’t bother with the repulsors, just swung his fist and heard the wet crunch as it connected with his skull. The man crumbled like a doll.

 

His own breathing echoed inside his helmet. This was all familiar, the claustrophobic tunnels, the heaps of supplies piled everywhere, the men in their shawls and camouflage jackets. Too familiar. His mouth tasted of copper.

 

Before him the passage opened up to a larger cave. Carpets deadened the sound of his metal clad feet. On the other side of the room the suit display focused on a moving, glowing cluster of human silhouettes. Their weapons stood out as black shadows. Machine guns. Some of them had apparently decided to make a stand. A voice in the back of his head told him he should order them to stand down. It would be the right thing to do.

 

He lifted his hands again and sent a blast of pure energy right into their midst.  

 

By the time it was over, dust and debris was raining from the cave ceiling. Gravel crunched underfoot, covering the carpets. Almost as an afterthought he tore the Ten Rings flag from the wall and set the cloth ablaze in his hand.

 

Focus. He was on a mission. So far, he had seen nothing but enemy combatants. No civilians. No Loki. He needed to find the asgardian, to neutralize the threat or at least give the Other Guy a clear shot.

 

That was his mission. This was not about revenge. Focus.

 

He stepped over the prone bodies and continued deeper into the mountain.

 

*****

 

Cloying, gritty smoke had begun to fill the tunnels now, making his eyes water. His guards coughed and hid their faces behind their shawls. They had run for a long time, stumbling along, backtracking several times as their path turned out to be blocked by collapsed walls. Loki felt his strength faltering. He ignored it. His captors were growing ever more desperate. He only need wait for the opening to strike.

 

Then, in the gloom ahead, something appeared. Blinding lights surmounted by two white, blazing eyes. His captors erupted in shrill, panicked screams. Two words jumped at him from the gibberish. _Iron Man._    

 

His stomach turned to ice.

 

Before he could react, a strong arm wrapped around his throat from behind and he was crushed up against the guard’s chest. Choking, his fingers scrambled for purchase but just tangled uselessly in the man’s jacket. Fool. Behind Loki was probably the least safe place there was. This Avenger’s grudge was personal.

 

A muzzle dug into his temple. He bucked and twisted, but the grip was vice-like around his neck. Chest swelling with hot rage, he dug his fingers into the thick arm until he drew blood, staring into the shining eyes.

 

*****

 

Yet more enemies came running down the tunnel. They stumbled to a disarrayed stop when they spotted him in the haze. Even through the helmet he could hear their screams, the terror in the pitch. Most turned on the spot to make a run for it.

 

One of the shining shapes didn’t. It grabbed the man in front of itself, pressing a gun against his head as he shouted something, shrill and unintelligible. Tony dialed down the heat vision, letting the suit zoom in on the pair before him.

 

Messy black hair and baleful eyes in a pale face. Jackpot.

 

He lifted his arm, letting the cover snap open to reveal the forearm rockets. “Ok, hand over the hostage and no one gets hurt.” 

 

The man babbled something back, gesturing wildly with the gun, Loki still in a firm grip.

 

Tony tried again. “One last chance; give me the crazy god and I’ll let you run.” He’d rather not let the situation spiral into Loki getting nasty.

 

The man started to back away, dragging his prisoner along with him. No way. Tony wasn’t going to let his target escape so easily. He locked the sight to the head of the assailant and let the rocket fly.

 

It rounded Loki’s head with a mere hair’s breadth to spare and connected with the temple of the man with an impressive explosion. Too impressive. Tony swore when the tunnel roof started caving in, boulders and dust crashing down to block the passage between him and his quarry.

 

Damn. _Fuck_. He should’ve seen that one coming. Grimly, he blasted a few stones to gravel, but more tumbled down to take their place. Might very well bring the entire passage down on his head.

 

Turning around, he started running. Loki was somewhere on the other side and Iron Man had not come all this way to be given the slip now.

 

*****

 

He was alive. His head rang with the force of the blast. Somehow, he was on the floor, still cradled in the arms of his would-be captor. The back of his head throbbed in pain, and something sticky was running down his neck.

 

He pushed the limp body away, crawling to his feet.

 

The entire corridor behind him was blocked, jagged stones piled all the way up to the ceiling. The headless body was half-buried in it. It had shielded him from sharing the same fate, and Loki repaid it by liberating the gun from the bloody fingers.

 

Iron Man was nowhere to be seen. Loki ran.

 

*****

 

Tony sprinted though the maze, his only resistance the occasional terrified straggler cowering on the floor.  Still no sign of Loki, fuck it all.

 

“Banner, you copy? I had visual on the target but lost contact. How’s the situation outside?”

 

Bruce’s voice through the earpiece, carefully monotone. “No sign of him. A few hostiles have been running from the cave entrance, but they’re thinning out. Everyone just seems to be fleeing.”

 

“Any other exit?”

 

“Not that we’ve seen.”

 

“Good.”

 

The displays overlaying his vision glowed, showing him the twisted paths he had taken though the tunnels. If Loki wanted to get out, he’d have to go by the main cave.

 

Tony planned to be there, with a hell of a welcoming committee. 

 

*****

Smoke everywhere. The puny lightbulbs in the ceiling were pitiful things, no more than dim pinpricks though the haze. A man in a bulky coat stumbled into the corridor in front him, bewildered and blind. Loki put a bullet between his eyes and stepped over the twitching body. He had to keep moving.

 

He had no sense of direction in this rabbit’s warren of tunnels, so he ran on instinct, letting adrenaline carry him forwards, choking on the smoke and the fumes and tripping over the handiwork his hunter had left behind. But then, suddenly, there was bright light ahead. Glaringly, wonderfully bright.

 

New energy coursed through his body, and he burst out into punishing sunlight and burning sand.

 

*****

 

Tony arrived at the entrance just in time to see the tall, thin silhouette outlined against the light.

 

“Fuck!”

 

He powered up the leg thrusters and shot out after him, squinting in the sunlight for a moment before the display adjusted itself. Loki was dashing down the valley floor, away from him, one hand clutching a gun.

 

“Tony!” Banner’s voice crackled in his ear.

 

“I see him!”

 

He caught up with the god in less than a moment, killing the thrusters, one hand grabbing a bony shoulder and spinning him around even as the momentum of his flight knocked them both to the ground.

 

Loki staggered up, raising the gun. Tony blasted it away without even thinking, grabbing the outstretched arm and getting to his feet. Loki’s wrist was thin and hard underneath his glove, but solid. No illusion.

 

This was good. They were out in the open, perfectly visible, and as long as Tony managed to keep the fight here without falling for Loki’s magic tricks the Hulk would find them easily. Maybe even in time to save Tony’s sorry hide.

 

He steadied himself for Loki’s first blow. It never came. Instead the man hissed at him, clawing at his armor with his free hand. He twisted and yanked at Tony’s grip, but feebly, the pull easy to ignore. Shocked, Tony stared into eyes that burned with rage and something that looked a hell of a lot like hysteria. Loki flung himself violently to the side and something crunched under Tony’s glove. Blood began to trickle between his fingers.

 

“Cut it out,” he heard himself say. “You’re only hurting yourself.”

 

Loki stared back up at him, eyes wild, teeth bared in a silent laugh. “And surely I have never done _that_ before.”

 

This was just too bizarre. It was all _wrong._ Loki with dirt streaked across his face, hair matted, worn t-shirt hanging loose on him. What the hell was he playing at?

 

“Bruce? You still there?”

 

“Still here.” There was a growl to Banner’s voice now. He was right on the edge. Maybe even preparing to jump, and gods know that the mere thought of throwing oneself out a jet without a parachute would bring out the Hulk in _anyone._

 

“Hold for a moment, will you? Something’s not right.”

 

A pause. “Are you sure?”

 

“No, but just trust me.” It was probably madness, going up against Loki alone, but it was all too _easy._ Loki was still twisting in his grip, hurling garbled curses at him, heedless of the blood running down his arm. His fingers pried at the glove. Tony didn’t even feel it. And this was the guy who had effortlessly tossed him across a room and through a window.

 

Growling, he reached out and closed his other hand around the back of Loki’s scrawny neck. The god froze, staring up at the suit’s mask like he could see through to the man inside. In those glassy eyes, Tony read Loki’s death.

 

He didn’t want to see it. Suddenly yanking his enemy towards him, he wrapped both arms around Loki’s waist and kicked the leg thrusters into action, shooting them both upwards. Loki yelped in his grip, arms clutching around the suit’s shoulders as his cheek pressed against the face plate in a mockery of an embrace.

 

Tony gained altitude quickly. He wanted to get up and away from any potential surface-to-air artillery before meeting up with the jet. He’d have no trouble avoiding the crossfire, not even with a prisoner, but the plane was another matter.

 

Loki’s arms were still around his neck, his face pressed into the crook of Tony’s shoulder. Tony wouldn’t put it past him to bide his time until they were high enough for a fall to _hurt_ , and he wasn’t disappointed. As the ground beneath them had fallen away to reveal the curve of the planet on the horizon, Loki began to struggle, hands coming alive to curl around his armored neck and scrabble over the visor. Tony yanked his head back; he’d rather not lose the one thing between himself and the thin, sub-zero air, but his arms was now the only thing keeping Loki in place and damn if it didn’t seem like the god was more intent at causing his own fall than Tony’s.

 

Prying fingers smeared blood over the eye covers and Tony swore.

 

Then Loki twisted his head up and the curses died on his lips. Loki was deathly pale, his mouth colored an ugly, purplish blue and gasping open. His eyes were bulging and unseeing. _Suffocation_ , his mind helpfully supplied. The bastard was suffocating.

 

The _hell_? Last time he checked, asgardians had no trouble whatsoever with altitude. Loki’s desperate writhing suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

 

Gripping tighter around the tense body, he kicked the repulsors up another notch.

 

“Stark here! I’m incoming with a passenger and I need the hatch open _now_.”

 

“Copy that,” responded the pilot’s blessed voice and then the plane was there before him, breaking out of a cloud, perfectly aligned. The hatch was a darker square against the gleaming white side and he slowed down as much as he dared before skidding through. The landing was a graceless affair. The space was way too small and he crashed into the far wall, Loki still in his arms even as the co-pilot slammed the hatch closed behind them.

 

For a long moment, all he wanted was to lie there, in a tangled heap on the floor, and _breathe._ Loki seemed to agree, a shivering but unmoving weight on his chest.

 

“Stark?” Banner stood in the doorway, hand gripping the frame with a white-knuckled hand. Tony imagined he could already see green in his eyes. No rest for the wicked, time for some urgent pre-emptive damage control. 

 

He forced himself to sit up, loosely grasping his prisoner’s shoulders in a demonstrative grip. “It’s cool, Bruce. I’ve got him. Everything under control.”

 

Bruce just stood there, breathing heavily, face frozen. And Tony knew he was the one who’d told Banner to strut and let off some steam but damn, as of this exact moment he couldn’t remember why that had seemed like such a good idea.

 

Loki picked this moment for a very ill-planned return to consciousness. Tony could have strangled him. The asgardian gurgled something unintelligible, weakly flailing against the suit’s chest and cracked bleary eyes open. Looking straight at Banner.

 

His reaction was spectacular. Loki _screamed,_ a strangled whimper of genuine horror, and scrambled off Tony, falling onto the floor and dragging himself back on his ass and hands until his back hit the wall. He stared up at Bruce, chest heaving. They all froze like that for a short moment, then Loki made a small keening sound at the back of his throat, rolled his eyes back into his head and fucking _fainted_ , body collapsing bonelessly against the wall.

 

Tony and Bruce stared at him in silence. It was Tony who found his voice first. “Well, damn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This chapter was a blast to write, I hope it was equally fun to read!
> 
> A big, big, BIG thanks to Silvy for tireless, endless beta-reading. You're the best!


	8. In-Flight Entertainment

Tony leaned back into his chair, letting his head fall back against the leather upholstery with a groan. He clutched his drink carefully. The gauntlet wasn’t really built to handle glassware, but there was no way in hell he’d take it off right now.  Even removing the helmet had felt unsafe. He compromised by balancing it in his lap, close at hand.

 

On the other side of the cabin, Bruce bent over Loki’s prone body. The god hadn’t as much as twitched when Tony and the co-pilot hoisted him up and carried him in to the couch. Tony made a mental note to tell Pepper to give the man a raise.

 

“Anything new, doctor?”

 

Banner looked up, absentmindedly pulling off his glasses. “No.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he walked back to set next to Tony. “He still looks like any other human would after spending a few weeks in the hands of terrorists and then finishing it off with an unprotected trip though the stratosphere. Bruises, cuts, frostbite, maybe a concussion, dehydration, fractures to the ribs. You name it, he got the works. ”

 

“That’s the thing. This isn’t a human, Bruce. It’s a fucking _god_.” Tony gulped down a sloppy mouthful, feeling the burn. Must work on finer motor skills in those fingers joints.

 

“Sure doesn’t look like it, though.” Banner was leaning back, and Tony admired his self-control. A slight tension around the eyes was all that remained of the near-incident an hour ago. “He’s got multiple lacerations and bruising around both wrists. Some of it half-healed, some of it new. He’s been tied up, or probably handcuffed, and it’s happened repeatedly over a long period of time. It hasn’t healed very well. Yellow bruises underneath blue ones, infections. Do you think that’s how Asgardians work?”

 

Tony shook his head. Hell, he’d seen Loki take bullets and missiles with ease and had more than once blasted him with the repulsors straight in the face without doing so much as singeing an eyebrow.  

 

Banner nodded. “Me neither.”

 

They sat in silence for a while. Tony couldn’t keep his eyes off their unconscious passenger, watching every rise and fall of the thin chest and half-expecting him to explode into violence at any moment. Instead Loki just lay there, barely breathing. A quite awful sight, dirty, gaunt, his face even sharper than Tony remembered. What the hell had happened between then and now?

 

“Speaking of handcuffs,” Banner mused, “shouldn’t we try and restrain him somehow?”

 

  Tony threw him his best suave grin.  “Flattered by your assumptions doc, but contrary to popular belief I don’t always keep a set of handy handcuffs around. But I’m sure I could arrange for a pair if you feel so inclined.”

 

Banner snorted and punched him in the shoulder.

 

*****

 

Fury called, of course. Tony was only surprised that it had taken him so long. Then again, he seemed remarkably well-informed on the situation in the jet, and Tony quietly filed that away for the future. If Fury had eyes and ears onboard, Tony wanted to know about it.

 

“Is the situation under control?” the director asked, wasting no time. “Still out of it?”

 

“Like a candle,“ Tony replied, pressing the speaker button. “The lights are off and no one’s home. Where are you?”

 

“On the helicarrier. We are hovering over Karachi.” He paused. “The clean-up crew has reached the Ten Rings’ base. Not a lot for them to do. You didn’t hold back there, Stark.”

 

“Well, yeah.” He didn’t want to talk about it. The attack already seemed distant, like it hadn’t really happened, despite the dust itching under his suit and him still reeking of smoke and blood. The memories of it all vivid but empty, without emotion. A reel of film. Had he really mowed them all down? _Admit it, you lost it back there. Flashbacks. Messy._

 

Luckily, Fury didn’t linger. ”Change your course to rendezvous with us. You are heading too far west.”

 

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about that.” Banner gave him a quizzing glance, and Tony raised his eyebrows at him, mouthing ‘ _trust me’_ , and rolling his eyes at the doubtful look he got in return.

 

“Listen, Fury. We have no idea what game he’s playing this time. I don’t think brining him onboard the helicarrier is really all that brilliant. Remember last time?”

 

“Then what do you propose?” Fury’s voice was strained. Tony could just imagine the last drops of patience sizzling away in the familiar death glare.

 

“We need to take the initiative. Do something he won’t expect. Keep him on his toes, keep him away from potential targets.”

 

“Stark, the _world_ is his target.”

 

“Then we’ll keep him away from the means. Weapons, soldiers, civilians. We all know SHIELD has more than one shiny secret he’d love to get his hands on. Can you stop him, if he gets close?”

 

“Yes.” Last wisp of patience audibly evaporating. Tony smirked.

 

“Listen for a sec, I’ve got a plan. A chance for us to catch a breather. You know I own a place in Dubai, right? Hell, practically an estate. Big house, lots of space, kick-ass swimming pool, situated on its very own island. We have just about enough fuel to reach it. You can set up the perimeter, send Rogers, Barton and Romanov to meet us. Anchor a few aircraft carries around it, let loose some great whites, knock yourself out. We’ll handle the up close and personal.”

 

A very telling silence. “ _Stark_ -”

 

“Hear him out, will you?” It was Banner, to Tony’s mixed surprise and delight. “The… Other Guy is probably the best guard we could get, and an island is not a bad idea.”

 

Tony gave him a dazzling smile. “If you have any better suggestions, I’ll happy to hear them. It’s just a temporary solution. But as long as the god is onboard my plane, it’s my shot. And I’m heading for Dubai. You’re welcome to join me there, Director.”

 

“It’s a fucking stupid idea and you know it. Loki needs to be locked up tight, not dragged home for you to prod at.”

 

“OK, I admit it. It’s a puzzle, Fury, and I want all the pieces at hand. I swear, I’ll have a cell that can hold him ready within two days. You can’t do better than that and you know it.”

 

Tony could hear the aggravated hiss as Fury sucked air between clenched teeth. “If this blows up, I’ll take it out of your hide.”

 

Tony grinned in victory. “Duly noted. You’d have to be quick, though. If Loki slips, he’ll have done so over my dead, broken body.”

 

“You’d better hope so, Stark.”

 

The line went dead. Snorting, Tony pushed it aside and picked up his glass. “Always such a stick up his ass. Thanks for backing me up there, big guy.”

 

Bruce gave him a small smile and mumbled something, cheeks slightly red, but before Tony could call him on it there was a slight movement at the other end of the room.

 

Their heads whipped around. Loki had turned his face to the side and was now watching them with an unreadable expression. Tony felt the adrenaline surge, but Loki just lay there, body limp, face guarded.

 

“About time, sleeping beauty,” Tony rasped out, forcing his fingers to relax before he crushed the glass. Banner sat very still next to him, keeping his breath carefully even. 

 

Loki sat up. He moved slowly, deliberately, and Tony couldn’t tell if it was an attempt to appear unthreatening or if he was merely trying to favour his many hurts. Leaning back against the wall, the god let his gaze wander around the plane in silence, touching the bandage Bruce had wrapped around his right arm, ghosting fingers over the blood flecking his face. “You have an unusual concept of beauty, Tony Stark.”

 

Tony snorted. “Yeah, right.” He put the glass down, letting his hand rest lightly on his thigh, open and relaxed but also incidentally with his exposed palm aimed at Loki. Just as a precaution. “No sudden moves, now, no one here wants a mess. You’re welcome to thank me for saving your ass back there, by the way.”

 

That earned him a scornful look. “I hardly call exchanging one cell for another ‘saving’. I shall spare you my gratitude.”

 

“Now you’re just rude. Trust me, you’re in for an upgrade. After all, _I_ will build your new one.”

 

Loki sneered, but stayed where he was, eyes gliding between Tony and Bruce. His gaze lingered on his glove and Banner’s face and Tony saw _unease_. Bruce reached up to nervously fidget with his glasses and Loki flinched ever so slightly, eyes widening. It looked damn genuine.

 

“I might find myself suffering your hospitality, but do not demand my appreciation of it.” It was a snap, sharp and bitter, and Tony raised an eyebrow.

 

“Really? Because you look like you could use some. You look like shit. What did they do to you? No, wait. I _know_ what they did. Are you saying you’d rather be back there again? I bet they showed you real _Ten Rings hospitality_.” Loki yanked his head up and stared balefully at him, but Tony pressed on.

   “Let me guess. They held your head underwater until you were certain you were dead? Tied you down and whipped out those good old car batteries? Maybe they just locked you up in some stinking hellhole and left you to rot. Or did they get _inventive_?”

 

Loki’s face had gone a deathly white, and he made to rise, rage apparent on his face. Tony snapped his arm out, palm extended. “Sit the fuck _down_ , Loki.”

 

To his surprise, the god obeyed, sinking back onto the seat again, breathing harshly. Next to him, Bruce was twitching. Poor guy, Tony would have to apologize later, but now he _needed_ to push Loki as hard as he could, had to see if it was all an act, if the mask would fall. Find the breaking point.  

 

“You don’t think I _know_? I do, and I think you do, too. And I swear, you little bastard, that if this is one of your plots, if you are faking this, I will get you and I will _take you apart_.” He was panting himself now, he realized, and Loki’s dark eyes never left his face.     

“Think you can escape me? Not a chance. You’re alone and you’re stuck here. You’re not even a god anymore, are you? Just _look_ at you.”

 

Loki roared and lunged forwards, hands extended like claws. His face twisted in outrage, fury blazing from his eyes with an almost tangible force. Bruce yanked back on pure instinct, and Tony caught those thin wrists in a steel grip. Loki tumbled to his knees, shouting curses in a language Tony didn’t understand.

 

Bruce dragged himself out of the chair, words of apology tumbling from his mouth, and stumbled into the back room. Loki’s screams abruptly cut off as the door slammed behind him. For a moment, they both stared at the smooth white plastic. Then Tony carefully released his grip. “Thank you for clearing that up. I was wondering.”

 

Loki shot him an outraged glare and scrambled backwards. “You’re a raving lunatic.”  

 

“What, for provoking the Big Guy? Nah. Just wanted to see what you would do.” He smiled brightly and picked up his glass, taking a carefully casual sip. No need to let on just how much he _needed_ that drink just now. His heart was racing a mile a minute, the tumbler in his hand rattling slightly. “That was the truth, though. If you’re messing with me, I’ll see you dead. But on the off-chance that you’ve actually been legitimately worked over by the Ten Rings, it might cheer you up to know that it’s a side project of mine to wipe whose bastards off the face of the earth.”

 

Loki gave him a disbelieving frown before returning his attention to the back door.

 

“Relax. Banner’s not hulking out on you. Yet. So just sit there and be a good boy until we land, will you?”

 

*****

 

The rest of the flight crawled by in tense silence. Tony made more phone calls. Pepper was a dear, all business, wordlessly agreeing to save the rough stuff for later. Loki sat stiffly at the edge of the couch as far away from them as he could come, and stared sullenly out of the window. Banner returned to his seat after an hour or so and gave Tony a look that promised words in the future. Tony put on his best puppy eyes. It didn’t seem to have any effect.

 

By the time they were approaching their destination, Tony was all but asleep in his seat, head rolled back, aching eyes fixed doggedly on their prisoner. He didn’t dare blink lest he’d slip under.

 

Bruce was saying something next to him, but it didn’t register until a gentle hand landed on his shoulder. He rolled his head over. “Huh?”

 

Banner’s face was surprisingly close. When had he moved? “I said, I’ve been up front with the pilots. We’ll begin the descent in a minute. How are you feeling?”

 

Tony rubbed one armored hand over his face, then winced as the metal scraped over his cheek. Damn, he longed to be out of the suit and in a hot, steamy shower. “I’m OK. Could do with some sleep, I guess.  And a drink. Been an interesting day.”

 

“It’s not over yet.” Bruce said, sitting down next to him and giving Loki a meaningful look. “Have you made preparations?”

 

“I have. Let’s leave the details a surprise for our guest, though.”

 

From the other side of the room, Loki snorted. “Oh, do spare me your childish plotting.”

 

“Will do, believe me.” Outside the window, he could glimpse white sand in the middle of the blue sea below. They had already lost significant altitude. Tony leaned back and prepared for landing. The runway on the island was very short. It was usually a bumpy affair. He didn’t bother to forewarn Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're updated! :-D
> 
> A quick note; I'm off to a wedding next weekend, so there won't be any update until the week after. Sorry to keep you waiting!


	9. The God Can Haz Cheeseburger

Moist heat and glaring sunlight rolled in as the hatch was pulled open. Loki was silent as they led him down the rickety stairs onto the baking hot runway, eyes flicking restlessly around.

 

There wasn’t a lot to see. The sea filled most of the horizon. A sandy beach curved off in both directions, framing the small airfield. It was hardly more than a runway and a small hangar, all walled off from the main house. Somewhere beyond that wall was a bedroom with a nice soft bed with Tony’s name on it. On the home stretch, but there was still the trifling matter of the captive god.

 

A small gathering of people stood waiting for them like distorted  mirages in the heat, most in smart SHIELD uniforms. A man in black suit stepped forwards. Tony raised an eyebrow. “Agent Sitwell.”

 

The bald man nodded. “Mr. Stark. The area is secure.”

 

“That was the plan, yes. I did build the security system myself. All staff is off the island?”

 

“Yes.” The man fell in next to him as Tony started toward the gate and the house beyond, the rest of the group falling in behind. They were all discreetly but intently focused on the god herded along in their midst. Tony left that task to Bruce for now. He was doing a good job of it too, practically breathing up Loki’s neck. Loki seemed to be acutely uncomfortable. Perfect.

 

Sitwell was still talking. “We have jets doing laps above and there is a perimeter established off shore. Anything incoming by water or air will be annihilated unless it has the proper clearance.”

 

Tony hummed along, leading the way into a magnificent foyer, all marble and mosaic, complete with a tinkling fountain in the center. “Very well, agent. And the vault?”

 

“It’s prepared.”

 

Tony nodded, depositing the helmet into Sitwell’s surprised hands so he could grab the ledge of the fountain and thrust his head under the gloriously cold water. Fuck if it didn’t feel _good_ to wash away some of that sweat and dust. “Great. I hope my special order has arrived, too.”

 

He got the distinct feeling that Sitwell barely kept from rolling his eyes as he reclaimed his helmet. “Of course, Mr. Stark. It’s in the breakfast room.”

 

“I have one of those? Lead the way.”

 

They made a strange sight walking through the opulence, the agent’s impeccable suit only offsetting the deplorable state of the rest of them. Even Banner looked as rumbled as he had when Tony first met him, before being introduced to the concept of fitted clothing. As they moved along past gardens and a sparkling swimming pool their entourage silently drifted off, one by one. Doubtlessly to take up positions around the house, in case of… incidents. Tony kept glancing back at Loki, wanting to see his reaction, but the mask was back on and the fallen god’s face revealed nothing. 

 

Well. He’d see about that.

 

The breakfast room turned out to be a comfortable room where Tony in hindsight realized he might have actually eaten a meal or two. Maybe. Memory was a bit hazy. That was not important, though. What _was_ important was the great big plate in the middle of the table and the delicious, mouthwatering mountain of cheeseburgers stacked upon it.

 

Bruce looked amused. “Maybe they overdid it a bit.”

 

“Nonsense.” Tony grabbed one, heedless of the mayonnaise dripping over the gauntlet, and took a blissful bite. “There is no such thing as too many cheeseburgers. Come on, tuck in.” He threw himself down, suit and all, in one of the carved chairs, stretching out his legs and set about devouring the burger.   

 

Bruce rolled his eyes but joined him easily enough, equally hungry. Tony was halfway through his second one when he bothered to look up and take notice of Loki and Sitwell still standing. “What, you didn’t hear me? Sit down, people. They aren’t going to eat themselves.”

 

Both men seemed equally sceptical, but Tony waved his arm at them, reaching over and pulling out chairs until they both sank down by the table. Hostility radiated off Loki with an all but physical heat. He glared daggers at the heap of food before him, not moving an inch in his seat. Tony reached out and dropped a burger down in front of him. “Eat, will you?”

 

Loki turned his face away. “I’m not hungry.”

 

“And you’re supposed to be the God of Lies? Because that was a damned poor one. Come on, they’re not poisonous. See?” He took a huge bite out of his third one. “At least I believe so. Agent, have you poisoned the cheeseburgers?”

 

“The cheeseburgers are completely safe,” Sitwell replied, eating his with careful bites, mindful of the mayonnaise.

 

“Safe and scrumptious. Now eat, you idiot. It’s traditional. Cheeseburgers make everything alright, see? I insist.”

 

Loki sniffed and picked up the burger, gripping it daintily between dirty fingertips, giving it a suspicious once-over. He took a careful bite and suddenly he was wolfing it down, cramming it into his mouth as fast as he could and barely having time to swallow in between bites.

 

Tony nodded sagely and slid another one over. “Told you.”

 

It was a while of focused masticating before anyone spoke. Finally, Tony leaned back with a satisfied sigh and grabbed a bottle of coke from a sideboard. “There. Such is the therapeutic properties of cheeseburgers. Didn’t I say they make everything better?”

 

Loki was still determinedly chewing his way through his sixth burger, but accepted a water bottle from Tony’s hand without protest. Tony counted this as a progress.

 

Once the feeding frenzy was over, an awkward silence fell over the table. Loki twisted the empty water bottle in his hands, not meeting anyone’s gaze. Tony was just about ready to fall asleep facedown in the plate of burgers. Sighing, he rose and trudged over to the in-house control panel by the door. A flick of the fingers and a small panel slid aside by his wrist, exposing the suit’s outlets. It was a moment’s work to connect to the house. “Jarvis, transfer to the main Dubai server.”

 

Lights flickered on the control panel. “Transfer successful, sir.”

 

Loki twisted in his chair, trying to pinpoint the disembodied voice. Tony twisted his tired face into a grin and gestured to the small loudspeaker in in the corner of the roof. “Loki, meet Jarvis. Jarvis, meet Loki. You’ll spend a lot of time together from now on.”

 

Loki frowned, and Tony’s smile grew wider. “Jarvis is my man around the house. He’ll be keeping a close eye on you for me, so don’t do anything stupid. I’ll know. Jar, Loki will be spending the night in the vault. I want full security inside and out. If he does anything as much as twitch his nose, let me know.”

 

“Always, sir. Good day, Mr. Loki. A pleasure, I’m sure.”

 

“Charmed.” Loki spat out, climbing to his feet. “If you mean to lock me up, let’s get it over and done with. I grow weary of you.”

 

It was true; Tony could see the slight shake to his legs as he fought to stay upright. “Sure thing. I was going to suggest a shower and a check-up but hey, there’s a day tomorrow for fun and games and it’s not like we weren’t all over you while you were out cold.”

 

Loki’s baleful glare was its own sweet reward.

 

*****

 

At least he knew the way down to the vault by heart. It was accessed through the local underground workshop; he’d had it installed after he picked up the Iron Man gig and started lugging around extremely exclusive and desirable technology on his very back. A safe place to lock up the suits. It wasn’t big but it was certainly big enough for one rather stick-thin asgardian god. It’d do the trick until he had the time to upgrade its functions.

 

The workshop was empty and bare as he led the company through. He wasn’t in the habit to leave unfinished work behind in his houses; too many temptations for the wrong kind of people. Three SHIELD agents awaited them by the vault door, all calm and composure and jittery nerves under the surface. Loki stared right through them.

 

At the sound of Tony’s voice the door slid open, revealing its massive size and the solid titanium rods locking it in place. Bright, artificial light spilled out from inside. “All right, if you want the lights out, just say so and Jarvis will shut them off. You need to go, tell him and the agents here will helpfully escort you to the bathroom. I’m afraid I didn’t build my safe with an en suite.”

 

Loki just raised his chin and walked past him without dignifying him with a glance. Ouch.

 

 The door hissed closed behind him, and Tony finally let himself collapse again the wall with a groan. “Sweet merciful hell, I want to sleep for a month. You OK, Bruce?”

 

Bruce leaned against one of the work benches. “Just fine, no thanks to you. Please give a guy a warning before next time, will you?”

 

“Sorry about that. Really. I had to be sure.”

 

“I know.” A small smile played on Banner’s lips. “I won’t say it wasn’t just a little bit funny. Afterwards.”

 

Tony grinned tiredly. “Thanks. Well, ladies, gentlemen, we are off to bed. Oh, and. J, project the vault camera on the wall.”

 

The entire far wall lit up as the image of the vault’s inside appeared. White walls, sharp angels, everything slightly distorted by the wide-angle camera. Loki was sitting on a neatly made bed that looked distinctly out of place in the sterile room. “There. Jarvis, be a dear and give these brave agents every feed they want from the vault, will you? Cameras, sound, the whole channel package.” He heaved himself off the wall. “I’m out of here. Sitwell, you’ll be in charge?”

 

The bald man shook his head. “For tonight, but only until the helicarrier arrives tomorrow morning.”

 

“Perfect. Just please don’t let Cap wake me. He’s so chipper in the morning, I might have to punch him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! :-D All but dead over the keyboard after weddings and family visits galore. Hope you enjoyed the Stark hospitality above (because Loki would rather not.) 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Silvy for beta. <3


	10. Cleanliness is Next to Godliness

Wakefulness came slowly, cushioned in clean linens, warmth and soft pillows, utterly deceiving in its cruelty. Loathsome awakening crept up on him while defenseless, forced to open his eyes and face his realities. He considered burying back under and ignoring it all. Mayhap pull the blanket over his head for extra measure. Surely that would hold them off.

 

He gave himself a humourless bark of a laugh and reluctantly opened his eyes. There was no escape. His body was already making the call for him. Soon he would need to call the entity serving Tony Stark and request yet another _visit_. Seemed like cheeseburgers, eaten in enough quantity on a starving, abused stomach, could indeed be added to the list of things nearly fatal to the human body.

 

The list was growing ridiculously long by now. How managed humanity even to survive into the next day?  He had spent the night altering between intense pain and exhausted slumber.

 

They had let him out to relieve himself. He was still incredulous over that. How, by the time he gave in and asked the voice, the locks had sighed, the door had swung open, and the guards had escorted him to a washroom that seemed like a dream after the dark eternity in the cave. His current captors, it seemed, had decided to play for kindness.

 

To deny it made for a welcome change would be akin to lying. He had not expected Tony Stark to play this game so well. To first hurt, brazenly display his power, overwhelm and terrify. Then clemency for the beaten foe, cowed at his feet. Gracious generosity, being fed, watered, bandaged, not beaten. A game that Loki knew well; Odin played it like the master he was. He had not expected from the Iron Man.

 

Maybe there were other taskmasters behind Stark, pulling the strings. Masters far more devious.

 

Or maybe he acted on different motivations altogether. _Ten Rings Hospitality_ – remembrance of Barton’s concise information about his adversaries’ backgrounds had sobered him up like a fist at those words. It would seem Stark had his own reasons to attack his tormentors. Were his actions then born out of sympathy, or fury with that he would likely perceive as a trap most mockingly designed? The former unlikely, the latter more like his usual fortune lately.

 

No matter. A part of him morosely insisted it was all a moot point either way; he had no way to oppose them in this game, no cards on his hand and no aces up his sleeve.

 

Exiled. Powerless.

 

They already knew. His shame bared for all to see, the truth flung in his face. Even the mortals saw it for what it was, the way he stumbled to his knees faced with the monster’s glare in the plane. The way he fell on the food like a starving cur. He knew what they saw when they looked at him, dirty and bruised and barefoot. 

 

Suddenly, the light above brightened, revealing the empty, gleaming walls of his cell. Much too small, it has cost him to willingly step into it so indifferently yesterday. “Good morning, sir.”

 

The servant voice. Loki didn’t bother acknowledging it. His thoughts were dark and he wanted only to be left alone to brood.

 

“Mr. Stark wished to be informed when you woke up. He’s awaiting you in the workshop. Please proceed.” Across the room, the door slowly swung open.

 

He was of half a mind to refuse and force them to end this charade of chivalry, but in the end, he rose. The lights in the room outside had been turned up to a glaring brightness and he blinked, trying to adjust.

 

“Morning, sunshine.” It was Stark, standing by one of the workbenches, tinkering with something out of sight. The table that had been empty last time he walked by was now cluttered beyond reason. “Took you long enough.” He yanked his head in the direction of the bathroom door, without even bothering to look up. “Go take a shower, there is some new duds for you in there. Banner will be down later to give you a check-up.”

 

Loki set his jaw and walked on. So they thought the mere mention of the monster would be enough to keep him in check.

 

The bathroom was all in black tile and shiny metal, bigger than his cell and brightly lit. He entertained the thought of telling them to just move his bed in here and save themselves some work, and flashed himself a bitter smile in the mirror.

 

Stark hadn’t lied. It was all there, towels, combs and clothes. And a garbage can, subtly awaiting the rags he now wore. He stripped out of them willingly enough, pointedly tossing them on the floor. The shower was a confusing jumble of metal tubes and in the end, he simply ordered the voice to turn it on.

 

It was glorious. The water was mild and warm and massaged his shoulders in an endless stream. The thick, runny soap frothed and bubbled and he allowed himself to take his time, ignoring the world outside while he methodically scrubbed at weeks of ingrained grime. The water ran black around his feet with dirt.

 

He finally forced himself to step out and reach for one of the many towels. With the filth gone, his skin looked sickeningly pale, save where bruises and scabs colored it blue and red. They were ugly, these brands of mortality. They ran up his sides and peppered his chest, covered his arms and made foul bracelets around his wrists. The arm Stark had grabbed was almost black from wrist to elbow.

 

Pulling fresh clothes on felt better, somewhat, black cloth hiding the marks from sight. It felt odd to slip his feet into socks and slippers again. There was a comb and he spent more time than he should working the tangles out of his hair until it all fell smoothly over his shoulders.

 

He was stalling, he admitted to himself. Wished not to go out there and face them. He needed time to think, to plan. He’d traded one captor for another. What would these shield-mates of his brother do? They had spared his life once before, on the behest of Thor. Would they do so again? Would Thor be there to demand it? They knew well his crimes. He had been delivered into their hands. Would they settle the score?

 

He could of course try and bargain with them. Offer knowledge for his life and lace it with lies until they got wise to his tricks. Cause them some grief before the inevitable end.

 

“Mr. Stark wishes to know if you have managed to flush yourself down the toilet, sir.”

 

He glared at the ceiling, biting back a scathing reply. He would not lower himself to get into an argument with Tony Stark’s creation. Instead, he shoved all nagging thoughts to the back of his mind and swept open the door, face schooled to a neutral mask.

 

That mask nearly slipped when he saw what awaited him. Bruce Banner, leaning against the bench next to his friend, looking over his shoulder and engrossed in what Stark was doing. The stab of shame cut almost as deep as the fear. He’d utterly disgraced himself yesterday, finding himself unexpectedly face to face with the monster. It smarted, but less so than the fact that he _feared_. To the knowledge of all.

 

They both looked up, and the Iron Man flashed him an infuriating smile that prickled Loki’s pride before the man had even opened his mouth. In contrast, the monster’s face closed up, shutting like a door. So easy to decipher, he was. Scared of himself, denying his nature.

 

For the moment Loki would rather see that it remained that way. A Bruce Banner embracing his true self was a terrifying thought when at his mercy. 

 

“Trying to use up all the hot water at me? Not going to work; this place has a water heater the size of a swimming pool. Next time, I’m setting a timer.” Stark turned around, wiping his hands on a rag, surveying Loki with an overly blatant stare. “Cleaned up nice. No one’d think you’ve spent two months in a cave. Two weeks, tops. Maybe three.”

 

Had it been only two months? It felt like longer. A lot longer. “Tony Stark. You should know, I would think.“

 

A humorless smile and a glint of steel in the brown eyes. “Well. Unlike you, I chose to exit in style. Always ready to swoop in and save those that can’t manage on their own.”

 

“At least no one had to sacrifice themselves to realize my escape,” he purred back, looking down at the mortal. The hot glare Stark shot him was sweet.

 

“Well, who would ever sacrifice themselves for you?”  Loki felt himself freeze, the smile all but slipping. Stark grinned at him, ruthless, sharp. It was an effort not to smash a fist into that sneer.

 

The human yanked his head towards where the monster had wandered off. “Be a good god, get over there and let the doctor have a look at you. We’ll talk later. The director is hopping on his feet to meet you.”

 

He snarled and turned away, eager to end the conversation. Banner had spread the tools of his trade over another worktable, and awaited him with a guarded gaze behind his glasses. His voice was nevertheless steady. “Would you mind taking off your shirt?”

 

Yes, Loki would mind. Would mind rather a lot. Would much rather remain clothed and get his powers back and kill everyone in this room. In the whole world, rather than show his marks to Bruce Banner or anyone else. He had suffered enough unwelcome hands on him for a lifetime. Remembered the pain of the Hulk much too vividly.

 

He stiffly pulled off the soft tunic and sat down on the table. The monster’s hands were sure and careful on his skin. A healer’s hands. They moved with purpose, mapping out the damage, wrapping them in bandages and gauze. Loki bore it all in silence. Breathed evenly and kept still, his gaze steadily ahead. When the monster picked up a needle and bled him it was almost a relief to have a reason to flinch. Once it was over and done with he dressed once more, keeping his movements precise and controlled. The new bandages pulled at his skin.

 

Banner was packing away his equipment, handling the vials of blood carefully. “You’re a lucky guy. Or maybe just a very fast healer. A few things are broken, but it’s mostly tissue damage, and those bones seem to have set all right. Make sure to drink plenty of water in the next few days.”

 

Loki was itching to _get away_ from the man, so he just nodded, jerkily.

 

Stark had been looming in the background throughout it all, watching with arms crossed. “You’re luckier than you deserve. Final thing before Fury gets your ass; I got a gift for you.”

 

He held out his hand, something glistening in his palm. It was a bracelet, one of those timepieces so favoured among midgardians, chunky metal links and a gleaming clockface. Loki regarded it passively.

 

“How generous. Thank you, but I hardly have need for that.”

 

“You might not, but I definitely do. Just off the production line, it’s got all kinds of bells and whistles. Ten different time zones, works underwater, titanium alloy, will relay your exact position to me at all times and raise absolute hell if you ever dare sticking a fingernail outside this house. Put it on or I swear I’ll bolt it around your neck.”

 

Loki ground his teeth together and snatched the damn thing from the mortal’s hand, feeling the chill of the metal as he snapped it around his wrist. It fitted tight but not uncomfortably so, and a quick yank confirmed it was firmly locked in place. He gave the man a look promising painful, slow death, but Stark just turned his back, casually waving for him to follow. Aware of the surreptitious looks from Banner and the guards, he finally did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note: there will be a short mid-week chapter up Wednesday-ish this coming week!
> 
> Thanks, as always to Silvy for a truly epic beta-work and to everyone who leaves comments! You are my life's blood. <3


	11. The Douche With An Eye Patch Who Isn’t Odin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short mid-week chapter as promised! Enjoy!

The halls of Stark’s house were empty save for the occasional soldier wearing the colours of SHIELD. They passed by a wall of glass and he saw a shadow looming overhead, throwing the vibrant garden outside in stark darkness. The helicarrier was here, hanging like a sentence over Stark’s home.

 

The room they finally entered was windowless and bare, dark curtains blocking out the sunlight. Someone had obviously attempted a stifling atmosphere for this _conversation_. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow and slid down in the one free seat uninvited, facing the man waiting across the table.

 

Director Fury raised his own eyebrow in response. He was lounging back in his chair, and didn’t let his glare waver on Loki for an instant even as Stark leaned over and whispered in his ear before falling back to the wall. The commander of SHIELD was as Loki remembered him. Focused. Intense.  No desperation this time, though. None at all.

 

“So, Loki. Welcome back to earth.” The voice was level, the hands on the table relaxed.

 

“Wholly unplanned, I assure you,” he replied, equally bland.

 

The head of SHIELD smiled, all teeth. “Ah, yes. How do you enjoy being an ant?”

 

He bristled at that. Just how much did this man already know? Unpleasantly much, probably, but if Loki played his cards right he might at least sow some doubt.

 

“You took us quite by surprise,” Fury went on, ignoring his silence. “We hadn’t expected to find you back here with us. And in such circumstances, too. What happened, daddy kicked you out?”

 

Loki grinned savagely, a slash of a smile that must shine with madness. “To presume to know so much of the affairs of gods, you pathetic mortal _worm_.”

 

“You know what, mister God? I think I do. We can put two and two together, and the Ten Rings are diligent book keepers. Seems they have a fondness for home videos. It was all there, very _carefully_ recorded.” The toothy smile widened marginally. “I say you have already found yourself plenty of boots.”

 

“They hardly impressed,” he lied smoothly, “But you, director, how have you fared these last two months? How manages your beloved city? I trust they have not forgotten me.”

 

Fury’s one eye narrowed just a fraction, and he threw a quick glance at Stark, who shrugged. “How nice of you to care, Loki. New York is doing just fine, thank you for asking. Better than you. So why don’t you tell me of these last two months?”

 

Loki twitched. Fury smelled blood. He’d misstepped, somewhere. “And here I thought you had it all recorded.”

 

“Perhaps I just want your version.” That smile was a smirk now, and Loki snarled. What had he missed?

 

“I don’t feel like _sharing_.”

 

“That’s just too bad, because you will, sooner or later.”

 

“Do you truly imagine, even for a moment, that you are in any capacity capable to threaten me?”

 

“Believe me, I didn’t even get started last time. But it’s your lucky day. Mr Stark here has expressed an interest in keeping things _civil_ in his home. I have a feeling you might like civil as well.” Stark shifted against the wall and Loki couldn’t help but flicking his gaze that way. So he wanted civility. More likely an easy surrender.

 

Fury rose, slowly walking around the table to stand behind Loki’s back. Loki stiffly stared right ahead, ignoring the man as he bent down over his shoulder. “I can stomp rather hard if I want to, and if what happened to your brother the first time he came to earth is a clue, you won’t be in any shape to stop me.”

 

Fury remained where he was, leaned down towards his ear. “You believe it’s been two months.”

 

Loki jerked around to stare at him before he was able to stop himself. Stark had _said_ …

 

Fury grinned. “You are out of your depth, Loki. Asgard has taken their hand from you. You have no idea of where you are or how long you’ve been here and you are not going _anywhere_.” He idly walked back to his seat and leaned back, studying Loki like a satisfied, well fed cat.

 

Loki seethed, gaze wandering between Fury and Stark, mind churning. The timepiece was a heavy weight around his wrist and he scratched at it unthinkingly. “Preposterous. It is you who are out of your depth, mortal. The Chiaturi…” 

 

“Ah, yes those guys. I’d like to talk about them, actually. There are _lots_ of things I’d like to talk about.”

 

“I am in no mood.” His defiance came out as the sulking of a small child, and Loki winced inside.

 

“Good, because right now, you’re shutting up and listening.” Fury leaned forwards, fixing him with a glare. “I am leaving you here, in the hands of the Avengers. They’ll have questions for you, and you will answer them. You won’t try and escape, you won’t make a fuss, and in return, I will not come back and pick you up.”

 

Loki crossed his arms and gave an irritated huff. “And if I refuse?”

 

“It wasn’t an offer, you little shit. It was a promise.”

 

Fury rose and walked towards the door, throwing him a cold smile over his shoulder. “Mr. Stark is now in charge. Be a good boy.” With that, he was gone, and Loki could only stare as the door closed behind him.

 

Stark chuckled and claimed the abandoned seat. “Ow, harsh.”

 

Loki fixed him with a furious glare. “I am not giving you _anything_ , you ignorant, blundering _oaf_.”

 

“Sure, sure. Anytime you feel like exchanging this island for SHIELDs hospitality, just let me know and I’ll hook you up. It’ll be a pleasure.”

 

Loki ground his teeth, feeling the rage inside churn ever hotter, the humiliation like sour bile in his throat. _Ant?_ He swore these vermin would regret the way they had misjudged him. He might be battered, but Loki of Asgard would suffer the derision of none. If they thought Stark’s house would hold him, the more fools to them.   


	12. Hitting the Fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be... longer. But as I'm on an unplanned roadtrip, I give you what should have been the opening scene and now is a cruelly short teaser-chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: Groans. Lost three sentenses then I first posted this, and of course they were my favorites. Well; as of sept. 4, this chapter is updated with said lost stuff?

The god was sullen and silent as Tony led him from the meeting out into the sunlit airiness of the rest of the house. Even with the massive airship overhead and most of the day past, the sun still shone brightly through every window, bouncing off mosaics and marble.

 

There was a meal waiting for them in the breakfast room, mostly for Loki’s sake.  He’d slept the day away.  Come to think of it, Tony hadn’t exactly had the time for a proper breakfast himself; he had woken up to a pissed-off Fury looming over his bed and spent the morning in a heated discussion that couldn’t be called a flat-out screaming match only because Bruce and Steve hadn’t let it progress that far. Tony had stood his ground. Loki would remain on the island for now. Fury had grudgingly agreed, though Tony had a sneaky suspicion that it might have been the Director’s plan all along. Quite possible, since Tony now sat here with a captive divine war criminal as his responsibility.

 

He wasn’t sure why he’d let it happen. Maybe because it was a puzzle, and Tony Stark never let a puzzle go until he had chewed all the answers out of it. Maybe because he had screwed up last time, along with everyone else. Been too slow, too unfocused. Or maybe just because seeing Loki in that video had hit too close to home for comfort and it crawled under his skin.

 

Rogers was sitting at the table, and the slight frown as he looked up was equally directed at both of them. “Stark. How did it go?”

 

“As well as could be expected. Princess here got a stern lecture from uncle Fury. Clean your room, don’t stay up past bedtime, that kind of thing.”

 

Steve’s frown deepened.

 

Tony picked up a bagel from one of the plates and took a bite. “Relax, Cap, it went well. Fury laid down the law and it’s up to us to take it from here. He’s probably back on the carrier already.” He made a face. “This is the worst bagel I’ve ever had. Did you make this?”

 

“They sent down supplies from the helicarrier. You evacuated your staff.”

 

“Oh yeah. Right. Standard SHIELD poison. Poor bastards, no wonder they always look so constipated.” He turned to Loki, who had sat glowering and quiet between them up until now, focused on his plate. “Please don’t think this is my usual stuff.”

 

Loki didn’t answer him, just sneered and returned to his food. Tony watched him from the corner of his eye as he ceaselessly chewed his way through whatever stood before him; bacon, cereal, fruit, didn’t seem to matter in the face of Loki’s relentless eating.

 

Tony could relate, on some level. The time after Afghanistan had been turbulent, in more ways than one. Among the more spectacular notions he’d had were the small ones, the compulsions, the irrational urges. Like refusing to sleep with the lights off for a week and eating until he nearly threw up because it was _there_ and it tasted like _home_ and despite knowing how fucking stupid it was, he hadn’t been able to stop. Maybe Loki had that same thing going on. Or maybe he was just hungry. 

 

Didn’t really matter. Loki was Loki, and sooner or later Fury was going to make him pay for what he’d done. And Tony would help him.

 

He settled down to eat the sub-standard meal, bickering with Steve over some sports results, both trying to ignore the almost tangible tension around them. The God in the room, as it were. Loki seemed more than willing to play along, disregarding them both in favour of brooding over a mug of tea. In the end, he mumbled something about needs and it was a relief to wave for one of the SHIELD officers and send him off to the bathroom.

 

Steve groaned and collapsed back in his chair. “Sweet _Lord_ , Tony. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

“So do I, to be honest.” Tony took a swig of lukewarm coffee. “It’s just temporary. Until... I don’t know, decisions have been made or Thor drops in or whatever. We have to handle this, Steve. _I_ have to handle it. Try to be less of an epic failure this time.”

 

A deep sigh. “You said as much to Fury. Don’t think I don’t agree, Tony. It’s just... he’s played us before, you know.”

 

“I know. But if he’s bluffing this time, he’s damn good. He thinks it’s been two months since he attacked New York.”

 

“It’s been eight.”

 

“Six months is a hell of a long time to lose. No offence, Capcicle, but I don’t think Loki has been froz-“

 

Suddenly, an earsplitting alarm went off, loud enough to hurt. Tony was on his feet before he was even aware of moving, watery coffee spilling all over the table. “Jarvis!”

 

The A.I. was already talking. “Camera out in the restroom down the hall, sir. Also, Loki’s tracking signal has gone offline.”

 

Tony swore and hurtled himself through the door, Steve on his heels. They turned the corner with enough speed to stumble over the prone body on the floor and go gracelessly flying. Well, Tony did, at any rate. Steve landed on his feet, hand already reaching out for the unmoving man. It was the SHIELD officer sent to escort Loki. Blood pooled under his head.

 

Tony scrambled to his feet, icy dread and hot anger pooling in his stomach as he reached the bathroom door and planted a kick square over the lock. It flew open without resistance, almost unbalancing him again. The small room was empty, the scatter of watch parts and delicate electronics spread over the floor the only trace of Loki. A mocking silver butter knife had been left among the clutter. “Fuck!”


	13. I Do What I Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Road trip's over! :-)
> 
> QUICK NOTE: a couple of paragraphs disappeared in the middle of the last chapter then I posted it, and I only realized a some days afterwards. Without them it's kind of a mess, so you may want to read that chapter again for the sake of clarity. Thanks, Silvy, for pointing it out!
> 
> And now back to our regularly scheduled mayhem. <3

Tony jerked back out from the bathroom, meeting the eyes of Steve who still bent over the fallen agent. “Fucking gone. Jarvis, get me Fury!”

 

SHIELD people were already materializing from all directions, rushing in to take the unconscious man off Steve’s hands, fanning out in the hallways. Tony followed them, running towards the main entrance. Loki had come this way yesterday. Maybe he’d try to make it back to the airfield. Could he fly a plane? “Fury, do you hear me? Loki has slipped the leash. He’s somewhere in the house, we don’t have a position. Keep the perimeter, will you?”

 

“Damnit, Stark, it’s only been a goddamn ten minutes!” Fury barked, and Tony didn’t argue, cursing himself for his idiocy.

 

“I know, I know, just send people down. I’ll get back to you, need to talk to Banner!”

 

Jarvis’ voice chimed above. “Sir, I have a visual on the target on the lower level. He’s in the northeastern service corridor.”

 

“What, by the kitchen? How the hell did he get down there?” Not the airfield, then. Tony turned sharply right to reach the nearest staircase. At least he believed it was the nearest- he might be the most kickass genius alive, but damn if he knew the way around his own _house_. Where was the northeastern service corridor?

                                                                                                                 

“He’s approaching the main server room, sir.“ Was that a note of worry in Jarvis’ cultured voice?  Tony ran faster.

 

“Don’t worry, buddy. Initiate full lock-down, all sectors.”

 

“Sir, need I remind you that I function in a very limited capacity in this building? I am afraid I cannot access the doors.”

 

Oh, yes. He’d not wanted to leave too much Stark technology around in a place so far from home. Stupid, stupid. His breath was catching in his throat.

 

“Sir, the target has entered the server room. He’s- “ The smooth timbre of Jarvis’ voice turned into an ugly shriek of garbled electronic noise, before abruptly cutting off.

 

“Jarvis? Jarvis! Son of a _bitch_!” 

 

He bounded down the staircase three steps at a time, screeching into the first corridor on the left on his heels, cursing the fact that his suit was still in his bedroom. A nauseating smell of burnt plastic led him to the server room, the thick door still ajar. The lock looked like it had been picked delicately. With an axe.

 

Water seeped into his shoes as the stepped through the door, pooling around the three large servers stationed in the middle of the floor what was cracked open like damn eggs. A meat cleaver still lodged in one of them. In the corner lay a wet discarded plastic bucket.

 

Tony leaned on the doorframe and wheezed, muttering a sting of curses under his breath. When he got hold of that little shit, Loki was gonna _pay._ Running footsteps approached and suddenly Cap was there, holding his shield and not being the slightest out of breath on purpose.

 

Tony pushed himself away from the wall. A look said all that needed saying. Rogers’ face set, and he turned to peer down the dim hallway. “He’s fast.”

 

“Like a greased eel, and I speak from experience. Find someone to tell Bruce to stay put in the workshop. I need to get the backup system online.”

 

Steve nodded. “Where is it?”

 

“Oh, just on the other end of the island, where else.”

 

He ran all the way, ignoring the ache in his chest, shouting for news from any SHIELD agent he met. Jarvis’ shut-down affected every system island-wide. Tony was paranoid – _cautious_ \- enough not to allow any outside contractors into his house, and so everything from the mobile network to security cameras was utterly, completely, _magnificently_ down for the count. At least the helicarrier’s communications were still up.

 

What news he got was bad. No sign of Loki, but reports of broken cameras, light bulbs and for some reason light switches all over the place. A fire in the garden, or the kitchen, no one seemed to know for sure. By the time he reached the building housing the back-up servers, the sun was setting.

 

One of the SHIELDs skidded to a stop beside him, chest heaving. “Sir, I was to tell you that the target was located near the main entrance, but…”

 

Always a but. “He got away?”

 

“Put a knife in the chest of the guy, sir.”

 

Tony ground his teeth together and wrenched the door to the non-descript shed open, striding in with the agent at his heels. The servers were in the basement, silent and dark. He tapped away at the controls while the agent hovered near, hand pressed over his ear piece. Seemed like Loki had slipped them all again; the sneaky piece of shit was nowhere to be found. What was worse, he seemed to have really done a number on the kitchen; the first agent through the door had set off a tower of oil bottles that had crashed, ignited and created a fireball big enough to fling her five feet right back. Whatever else Loki had picked up on his way through, no one could tell in the resulting mess.

 

Until they got a silver fork through the throat, that was.

 

Finally, the backup servers hummed to life. It would take a couple of minutes before they rebooted Jarvis, so Tony headed up the stairs. The first faint stars twinkled outside. He was almost at the door when a massive roar boomed over the island, followed by a shockwave that shattered windows in an impressive rain of glass.

 

Tony hunkered down on pure instinct, hands going above his head, before hurrying out in time to see the dark, sinister cloud rising above the airfield. Flames licked at the darkening sky, a stark relief against the soft purple sky. That was the garage. _His_ garage. His _garage_.

 

The rides, and the _main damn generator_. The thought struck him just as every light on the island winked out. He could _hear_ the sigh of the servers below as they faltered in their reboot, shutting right down again. Darkness blanketed the house, only the slivers of setting sun and the lights on the helicarrier still shining. That, and the dirty flames of the fire. Tony fought the urge to turn his face to the sky and _scream_.

 

Grimly, he liberated the agent from his earpiece and went running back towards the house.

 

He briefly met Steve in the hallway, face hard; he hadn’t seen squat, but found the sofas in the living room slashed and doused in Tony’s best scotch with a burning pile of curtains in the middle of it all. A close call. Fury was barking orders in the ear-piece and Steve dashed back into action. Tony followed, but adrenaline had finally lost its battle to reality and he soon fell behind. It seemed Loki had taken advantage of the confusion around the fire and escaped to the other end of the house. There had been more knives thrown from the darkness.

 

This wasn’t an escape attempt. Loki had been at the airport but done nothing more than blow shit up. He had returned to the house, not gone for the jetty and the boats. Loki wasn’t trying to get away. He was _attacking_ , causing as much merry hell as he possibly could.

 

If he hadn’t been mouth-frothingly furious by now, Tony could’ve admired him.

 

Suddenly a shadow folded away from the wall before him and he tensed before he recognized Natasha’s red hair. She nodded, all business, her wristbands crackling with electricity. Barton was a silent presence behind her, arrow nocked and ready. 

 

“He’s in the east wing.”

 

He didn’t question how she knew. “Meet you there in five. I’m getting suited up, so sorry for the special welcome party. Cap, did you copy?”

 

“Roger that,” Steve clipped in his ear, before someone else cut in.

 

“Do you need backup?”

 

“Bruce? Everything all right there buddy? No, we’re fine, just… lay low for now, will you?” Not now, not with agents spread over the entire island and no security up and running. The Hulk would have to be the final weapon. If he got to Loki, no matter how fast and clever he was, the Hulk would rip him apart.

 

Which would be too bad, because if anyone was going to rip the creep apart it would be Tony fucking Stark.

 

“Sure. Just call me if you need me, will you?” There was resolve in Bruce’s voice, and Tony felt himself smile in spite of everything. Atta boy.

 

The suit waited for him in his bedroom, and it felt _good_ to finally gear up. He snapped the faceplate down and grinned a savage grin as Jarvis booted.

 

“Sir.”

 

“Good to have you back, J. We have a few bucketfuls of payback to dish out, you and me.”

 

Outside, the carrier hung low and had turned on its searchlights. Harsh, bright beams of light criss-crossed the island; hopefully the local authorities would assume it was just another legendary Stark-style party. He joined the others by the swimming pool, hovering in the air. “All here, Cap.”

 

“Stay in the skies, Iron Man. The rest of us will go in and flush him out. I want everyone not heading inside forming a steel ring around this place.”

 

Tony nodded and rose. From up here, he could see the destruction in pleasantly perfect detail. The fire still raged in the west, casting a flickering light over the entire island. The area over the kitchens smoldered, too, thick tendrils of black smoke drifting up towards the carrier above. His anger flared again, hot and sharp. This place was _his_.

 

Below, Natasha nimbly swung herself up on the balcony, disappearing in through the french doors. If anyone could find the rat, it would be her and Clint.

 

He switched to heat vision, the agents below turning into white-hot shapes against the purple walls. “Jarvis, find me Loki.”

 

“I am targeting his bio-signature. Should I fire at sight, sir?”

 

“I appreciate your bloodthirst but sadly, no. Just tell me.”

 

The earpiece crackled in his ear. “This is agent Barton. We have secured the front of the house. No contact. Moving on now.”

 

Tony hovered in tense silence, eyes and scanners sweeping the ground below, listening to the voices over the radio as the others moved from room to room. He was itching with the frustration of hanging back up here, just waiting for something to happen.

 

Suddenly, Natasha’s voice in his ear, icy and intense with focus. “Everyone stand still. No movements.”

 

“Nat?” It was Barton, managing to pack too many emotions into those three letters.

 

“A trip wire. I triggered it, but it won’t go off unless I move. There’s gas on the floor here. I can smell it.”

 

“Just stand still, agent.” Fury said. “Barton?”

 

“I’m on it. Coming, Natasha.”

 

Above, Tony held his breath, skin prickling. It seemed like forever before he heard Black Widow’s voice again. “All clear, we are moving ou- _Govno!_ “

 

Natasha was drowned out in a roar of static as the windows of the bottom floor exploded outwards in a rain of glass and fire. The heat struck like a blow even through the protection of the suit, the shockwave and hot air almost sending him tumbling. Cursing, he struggled to stabilize himself, yelling into the com-link for the others.

 

If it wasn’t for Jarvis, he might very well have missed it. A slender, stealthy figure slinking out an open window, gone among the lush foliage in the flash of a second. In the fire and confusion, no one saw. But Jarvis locked onto it, zoomed in and threw it up on the HUD in glorious color projection. “Visual on target, sir.”

 

“Fuck yeah!” Tony swooped down, powering the thrusters more than strictly necessary. He crashed through the decorative palm trees, sending leaves and earth flying, and landed next to Loki with enough impact to make the ground shudder. Loki hissed and jerked back, pale face smeared with dirt again, clutching a makeshift bag in one hand. Picked up some odds and ends, had he?

 

Tony wasn’t in the mood. He grabbed Loki’s arm roughly, knowing it was already damaged underneath the sleeve and feeling a sliver of satisfaction as the asgardian’s face scrunched up in fury and pain. The bag, he snatched away and threw off into the darkness as he stalked back to the pool area, dragging a snarling, screaming Loki behind him by the collar.

 

“Fun’s over, you little shit. Fury, you there? I got the bastard.”

 

“I will destroy you, Stark ! I will _burn_ you! I will find each and every thing you have ever cared about and I will crush it under my heel and leave you only the ashes to find!”

 

He stopped dead in his tracks, rounding on the god and shaking him like a rat.

 

“The hell you will! Shut up before I do something I’ll regret.” He was breathing harshly, he realized, the smell of the burning house penetrating even through the air filters of the suit. If the others hadn’t made it out…

 

Loki laughed, a knifeslash smile across his face, eyes lit with madness. “Do what? Whatever could _you_ do to stop _me_? I will not stop! I shall cut you open, Stark, but not before I’ve killed everyone you love right before your eyes. You will watch them _bleed_ and _scream_ and there will be _nothing_ you can do to save them. I shall-“

 

Tony hit him, armored hand slapping across that smile with the sound of a whip crack. Loki’s head snapped to one side, momentarily stunned. Tony jerked him along, out into the bright searchlights along the pool deck.

 

“I will never stop, Iron Man.” It was the tone that made him turn around, the rawness of the harsh whisper. Blood trickled down Loki’s chin. The smile was back, pure blowtorch insanity. Suddenly, the god threw himself forward, practically into Tony’s arms, his free hand smacking hard into the back of the suit’s shoulder. Tony felt a small flare of pain.

 

“What the fuck?!” He tried to twist around, feeling the arm of the suit protest, suddenly a sluggish and heavy weight on his arm. Loki had damnwell _stabbed_ him, found the thin seam between the armor plates. Tony wrenched back and the weapon flew from Loki’s hand, clattering over the mosaic floor. A screwdriver. A fucking _screwdriver_. With a roar of anger, he jerked the god off his feet and slam dunked him head first into the black water of the swimming pool.

 

Tony knelt on the ledge as Loki surfaced, spluttering and gasping, and grabbed a fistful of soggy hair.

 

“ _You_. Have been a very bad puppy.” He casually dunked Loki’s head under repeatedly, lifting him only long enough for him to gulp down new air. “Very, very bad. Naughty. _Do. Not. Ever. Do. That. Again.”_

 

Loki’s hands scratched over his glove, clung to the pool’s ledge. Tony dragged him back up, a certain satisfaction at the open-mouthed gasping. “Next time, it’ll be the rolled-up newspaper.”

 

He hauled him out and dropped him in a wet pile on the tiled floor. Loki panted, gulping down air, glaring up at Tony. At them all, he suddenly realized. Clint was on his left, and it was with a mad rush of relief he saw Natasha and Cap beside him. They lived. A bit singed and definitely pissed off, but alive.  

 

“You think you can contain me? _You_ , dimwitted, useless morons? I will plague you all until the end of your short, worthless lives!”

 

“Enough.” It was said with enough calm authority that even Loki faltered and looked up as Fury stepped out of the shadows.

 

Tony took a deep breath and opened the face plate. “Director. How nice of you to join us.”

 

“Can it, Stark. You,” he said, pointing a finger at Loki. “are going back to your room right now. Play time’s over.”

 

Loki grinned again, twisting against their hands as Steve and Natasha dragged him to his feet. “So you think your cell can hold me, mortal?”

 

“I know it will. And come tomorrow, it won’t matter anymore.” He turned to the others. “We just got word from New Mexico. Thor has landed. He’s en route here now.”


	14. The Name of the Game

Trying to clean up Loki’s epic mess was as exhausting as it was infuriating. Tony had finally admitted defeat to the punishing midday sun and stumbled away to sprawl in one of the recliners scattered around the pool area. Normally they looked nonchalantly luxurious. Now, upended, sooty and thrown around a pool full of floating debris, they were little more than stage props in a particularly well-appointed war scene.

 

Around him, tendrils of smoke still rose against the blue sky. He could smell it in the air, a sharp note over the salt of the sea and the spiciness of the garden. The grime clung to his skin after a night of wading through the rubble, trying to assess the damage. Damn Loki to hell.

 

On the other side of the pool, the east wing was a burnt-out shell, jagged shards of glass glinting in empty windows, walls streaked black. So the helicarrier had been good for something in the end, what with massive ballast tanks and the ability to void them at an impressive speed. Over, for example, a burning building. Dirty water still pooled everywhere, even in the Dubai heat.

 

That house had had some truly spectacular guest rooms, even by Stark standards. He was pretty sure that that memorable night with the Korean twins and the ice cubes had taken place in one of them. Also, Pepper’s bedroom. She’d be upset. Tony was almost tempted to let her take it out on Loki personally. It would serve the snake right.

 

Loki’s blackout had messed up the rebooting servers beyond what should have been possible with Stark technology. It had been long past midnight by the time Jarvis was with him again and able to nag him into giving up the frantic damage control and get some shut-eye. He’d stumbled off, more than half asleep on his feet, leaving things to Steve and Sitwell. What was it with SHIELD’s men that made them immune to lack of sleep?

 

Because they had both been there, way too few hour later, when Jarvis chimed to wake him again.

 

_Thor practically glowed as he walked into the room, golden hair flowing, muscles flexing, looking every bit the god and nothing like the dead thing Tony felt like slumped over his coffee. His eyes felt like his eyeballs had taken a roll though the sand outside._

_“My friends! It is good to see you again.” The god had let his gaze sweep the room, taking them all in; from Fury in his black leather to Banner in his rumpled suit, Natasha and Barton still streaked with ash, even the perfect Captain America collapsed in the sofa. Most of them looked like pure shit, like a truck had hit them all hard, and Thor frowned. “Is this my brother’s doing?”_

_Tony drained his coffee in one long, scalding mouthful._

The sun was a goddamn sledgehammer. He groaned, and pushing himself out of the recliner took more effort than he wanted to admit. He needed something to drink.

 

Screw that. He needed _a_ drink, period.

 

The living room was still a mess, the couches slashed to shreds and reeking of alcohol. Natasha was catching a break leaning against the wall, face her usual mask even underneath the dirt. Tony nodded a greeting and picked his way through the room, towards the bar that Loki had thoroughly ransacked in his hunt for flammables. Cursing under his breath, he swept the shelves for anything drinkable. Surely the guy had missed _something_.

 

_“You knew he was here?” Fury’s face gave nothing away, all efficient business._

_“Aye. No. I saw you – Heimdall saw you – assailing his captors in the mountains. Saw you, Tony Stark.” His gaze sought Tony’s and Tony saluted him with his empty cup, acknowledging the silent gratitude. “I went then to my father, and beseeched him once more to send me to Midgard. This time, he relented. But I fear now I waited too long. This destruction…”_

_Fury shook his head. “Your brother’s down in the basement. He’s not going anywhere.”_

_Tension drained from Thor’s shoulders at those words, relief fluttering over his face. “I would lie if I said I have not fretted over his fate.”_

_“You knew?” It was Banner, in the sofa next to Steve, leaning forward. “You knew he was in Afghanistan? That he was a prisoner?”_

_Thor let out an agitated huff, massive hand dragging through his hair. “Yes.”_

_Tony blinked. “Oh. Wow.” He needed more coffee._

 

Tony grunted in triumph and reached deep into the bottom shelf to snag an overlooked bottle of vodka. Didn’t really care for the stuff, but hey, it contained alcohol. Contained _lots_ of alcohol. Plonking it down on the marble top, he looked around for any glassware that might have survived Loki’s wrath.

 

“Only one bottle left untouched in the entire bar, and you’re going to drink it?” He looked up to meet Natasha’s slightly incredulous look. “You really _do_ like living on the edge.”

 

Blinking, he picked up the bottle and turned it over in his hands. Yes, it _had_ been previously opened, the cap was screwed back on, but… “Don’t tell me he poisoned my booze as well.”

 

She shrugged. “Want to risk it?”

 

Cursing, he upended the damn thing into the sink.

 

Nevermind. He had a stash down in the workshop. Might as well, he had things to do down there anyway. No more stalling.

 

_“I think you need to explain this,” Natasha said, standing next Barton’s chair as he mechanically screwed and unscrewed an arrowhead onto a shaft, eyes never leaving Thor._

_“I can make a guess,” Tony grouched, dragging himself up to sit straight. “Your dad, that’s my shot. Doing a repeat performance of your show, something like that.”_

_The heir of Asgard squared his shoulders. ”It is more… complicated. But yes. You are not mistaken.”_

_“It’s more complicated than your father sending Loki back to Earth without so much as a heads-up?” Steve asked._

_“I would have appreciated a heads-up,” Clint interjected, fingers still playing over the arrow._

_“My Father’s the King. He keeps his own counsel. Will you hear me out, friends?”_

_There was an imploring tone to Thor’s voice, a note of uncertainty. Taking pity on the guy, Tony dragged out the chair next to his own, and Thor sank down in it, dwarfing it with his frame. He placed Mjölnir in his lap, absentmindedly stroking his fingers over the intricate carvings._

_“When we returned to Asgard, my father cast my brother out. It…was not what I had expected. It was not what I had wanted. I admit I told him so outright. But there is always a thought behind my father’s actions.” His hand tightened around the handle. “My brother has made himself enemies in many realms. If they would come seeking revenge, many would say Asgard should not pay the price for his crimes. Yet my father would not let his son be taken without battle. It could lead to a war that truly serves no one. My father would avoid it, if he could. He would spare Loki their rage.”_

_“By hiding him on Earth.”_

_“Not exactly. By letting him fall. In the emptiness between the realms, cloaked by the All-Father’s magic. With his own powers sealed away, not even the Chitauri could hope to find him, one small speck in the vastness of space.”_

_Tony let out a small whistle. “For six months. Your dad doesn’t mess around.”_

_“Your dad should’ve let them have him.” Clint said flatly._

_“I don’t begrudge you your animosity, Clint Barton.” Thor’s eyes were dejected. “It has fair cause. That is, I believe, why his fall ended here.”_

 

The corridors towards the workshop were weirdly untouched, every flower arrangement and priceless china vase perfectly aligned, the curtains billowing in the breeze. Figured that Loki would steer well clear of this direction. Here had been Hulk, after all.

 

From a purely theoretical standpoint, Tony had to admit himself grudgingly impressed. Loki had really outdone himself yesterday. Inventive, quick, ruthless – hostage to hostage, Tony gave him a straight A. It was a horrible waste that the guy also was the type to enjoy a good genocide in his spare time.

 

Two agents guarded the stairwell, and he nodded to them as he passed. Down here, everything looked like yesterday. The lamps still lit, the SHIELD guns – several more of them now – clustered around the vault, his worktable the usual clutter.

 

Bruce’s desk was spotlessly clean. Of course. Tony had figured that having someone else around his lab would be difficult because they’d get into his space. Turned out Bruce Banner was difficult because he didn’t. He just camped out in his own little sphere, neat and unobtrusive as fuck, until Tony couldn’t take it anymore and did something spectacular at him.

 

Never mind. Loki was awake. The projection on the wall showed him sitting on the bed, unmoving as a statue, still in the clothes he’d worn when Tony dunked him into the pool yesterday.

 

“Did he even sleep?”

 

“No, sir. Not since I came back online.”

 

Tony stared for a moment, then shook his head and went to work.

 

_“Loki is our enemy. Odin must understand that. Must understand what could have happened.” Fury had drifted over to stare out through the window, hands clasped behind his back, talking into thin air._

_Thor nodded, grimly. “Your people would have sought revenge. My father loves his sons, Nick Fury. But he is also King. He must see justice done. My brother needs to face the consequences of his actions.”_

_“Are you saying that your father – Loki’s father – has washed his hands off him?” Steve said, his scowl radiating disapproval. Good ol’ Steve, standing up for honest family values even in the face of pure madness._

 

_“I know you Midgardians care little for Fate, these days. But it is a powerful force, Captain. It steers us on our path. Had Loki met his demise here on Earth, in retaliation for crimes committed, it would have been Fate.” Thor spoke the words powerfully enough, but there was little conviction behind them. Tony snorted._

_“So you’d be all fine and dandy with your brother pushing daisies in the desert? Come on.”_

_“Truly, I would not. But now, as I know he’s in your hands, I am finally at ease.”_

_Tony coughed and avoided Thor’s earnest eyes. “Yeah, sure.”_

_“So this was a test? If he survives, it’s the universe saying he’s off the hook?” Banner asked, frowning._

_Thor shook his head, golden hair flying. “You know, I think, of how I fell? A test, yes, but as a gift, a chance of redemption. It is no different for my brother.”_

 

Tony’s hands moved without his guidance, going through the motions with unthinking ease. Drill. Connect the circuits. Solder. He craved this state, when his thoughts roamed free, chipping away at puzzles and problems that had nothing to do with the work before him.

 

And it was a mess, all of it, a huge, sticky, stinking mess of his own making - and he was caught in the middle of it, like an ant in a chewing gum. Sure, he could give squirming a go, but he’d only push himself in deeper.

 

It made his stomach burn with a low, slow-burning anger. Thor was supposed to have been the quick-fix, taking Loki off their hands, problem solved. No such luck. So now here _he_ was, with the whole hot mess dumped in his lap and expected to do something about the murderer locked in his basement. Half his house was burnt down, people had _died_ , and _nothing_ had changed. And it had been his idea from the start, his insistence that he’d do things his way.    

 

He put down the diamond-tipped drill, having finished the final touches on his latest creation, giving it a critical once over. Anger could be a great motivator; yet another piece of perfection from the hands of Tony Stark. Too bad he had a feeling it would go terribly unappreciated.

 

Rubbing his face, he fished out a bottle and a tumbler from a drawer and poured himself a stiff one, leaning back against the bench as he took the first swig.  

 

 _Redemption_. Thor had said it with such emotion, such fierce hope burning in his eyes, and well, Tony Stark should know all about redemption, shouldn’t he?

 

Staring your failures straight in the face, letting yourself see what a horrible unforgivable mess you’ve made, and then rolling your sleeves up and start paying your debts. He should be the unquestionable expert in the field. Practically worthy of another doctorate. Because he doubted debts came any bigger than those he owed, and you got points for trying, didn’t you?

 

He snorted and downed the rest of the glass. Supposedly he was now plus one understudy. There hadn’t even been a decision. There had only been Thor, looking like a kicked puppy, relying on them all – _his friends_ – and Fury staring out of the window, and that apparently decided things then and there, somehow. Ah, yes, gotta love a good guilt-trip.   

 

All garnish aside, the harsh truth was that he was the man ultimately responsible for pulling Loki, kicking and screaming, towards redemption, to regret, to “proving his worth” – what did that even mean, was there a tally sheet somewhere? – where did you even _start_?

 

It was just as well no one had asked him if he wanted to do this, because frankly, he didn’t.

 

There was no way this was going to work. Everything, every variable just _screamed_ imminent failure at him. Nevermind that Loki didn’t deserve a second chance, who said he even wanted it? The guy was a force of nature, of utter destruction, totally unapologetic. There was no regret in Loki for anything except maybe for failing at claiming the Earth as his own. Why would he cooperate even for an instant with the people who had smacked him down so hard Tony had to replace his entire living room floor? 

 

He put down the glass and glanced up at the projection. Loki hadn’t moved, just sat there in his soggy clothing and stared out at nothing. Might as well get this show on the road. “Jarvis, open the door.”

 

The tension in the room skyrocketed as the guards stiffened, everyone silent as the thick door slowly swung open. No movement inside. Tony hadn’t really expected any. Picking up his new creation and mentally giving himself a supportive pat on the shoulder, he strolled into the vault.

 

Loki was still sitting on the bed, but rose like a badly rigged robot as Tony stepped inside, all sharp angles and jerky motions. Up close, he looked like death warmed over, like the worst hangover ever, and the pinpoints of madness still burning in his eyes did nothing to improve the look. Someone who gave insomnia an even worse face than Tony, how ‘bout that.

 

“Good morning.” Let’s see how quickly they could turn this ugly.

 

“Spare me your prattling, mortal.” Loki snapped, eyes darting around, all but quivering with high-strung tension. 

 

Well, he hadn’t really believed in the polite route anyway.

 

Loki’s eyes had locked on the object in Tony’s hand, and his lips drew up in a snarl. “Another _gift,_ Stark? One could think you would have learnt your folly after yesternight.”

 

Tony held up the gleaming bracelet, smooth metal cut from one single piece. There would be no butter knives getting into this little baby, the welds hiding the electronics inside were as flawless as the locking mechanism. “I’m an optimistic man.”

 

“Do you think yourself the first to fetter me, Iron Man? Those who tried have all fallen before me. As will you.”

 

“Kinky stuff, we’ll have to try that sometime. Until then…” He held out the bracelet, and after a moment, Loki snatched it up, holding it between long, thin hands still stained with ash. A finger traced over the engraving, following the sharp angles of the Stark Industries logo. “How utterly endearing. Blunt insults from blunt minds, I suppose.”

 

Tony raised his hands in mock innocence. “Hey, I just like to keep track of my stuff. It gets lost so easily, you have no idea.”        

 

Loki tilted his head to the side, the knifeslash smile from yesterday suddenly back in full force. “Tell me, how many lives, this past night, because you underestimated me?”

 

Tony could feel his face freeze up, and did nothing to hide the coldness in his eyes. “That offer to bolt it around your neck still stands.”

 

Loki gave him an absolutely venomous glare, but snapped it closed around his gaunt wrist. “Enough. You and your toy are of no matter. Is my _brother_ so cowardly that he would send messengers in his stead? Have him down here from whatever hole he is hiding in and I will have this over and done with. I am weary of waiting for his irksome whining.”

 

“Oh, Thor?” Tony gave a careless wave. “He left three hours ago. He didn’t come here to talk to _you_.”

 

Loki stiffened, blinked, distain giving way to open-mouthed disbelief. Shock. Betrayal. Anger – Tony could stare right through him, could practically _see_ Loki’s world tilt on its axis. The asgardian drew a ragged breath, all but gasping for air and damn if it didn’t sound suspiciously like a sob.

 

For a flash of a second, Tony almost feared he’d burst into tears, and wasn’t _that_ a horrible mental image. He’d take his crazy gods homicidal any day. Much neater, unless of course they _actually_ started murdering people left and right. That always got messy and he was really just rambling to himself now, so come on, snap out of it Loki, _say_ something? 

 

An endless moment as they stared at each other, and then Loki jerked his head back and the mask slammed into place again, eyes impossibly wide, that Heath Ledger-grin burning with mad, murderous rage, his voice a hoarse sneer.  

 

“Did he now? No time for the matters of _mortals_? How unlike the _noble_ Odinson. ”

 

So many reasons to tread carefully here, Loki was a powder keg with a half-inch fuse already fizzing. Too bad he’d never bothered to learn the art. Not for himself, not for others. “Said he had places to be. He sends you his best. Believe me, I have a list the length of my arm.”

 

“Oh, spare me. I have no need for his useless platitudes. What would he say; that I be grateful that the All-Father spared my life? Content in my imprisonment? That of all the realms to live out my miserable mortal life, Midgard is to be thought a _blessing_?”

 

“For someone who doesn’t want to hear what Thor had to say, you really want to know what Thor had to say.” Tony took a deep breath to cut off Loki before he could start another long rant. “So here’s the thing. Big Brother says it’s your lucky day. Turns out daddy sending you away isn’t a permanent arrangement, all you need to do to go home for the holidays is to be a good boy on your best behavior. Oh, and redeem yourself.  And yes, I am totally projecting, and you could try to use it against me but everyone _knows_ Tony Stark has “daddy issues” written all over his forehead so it won’t work.” He crooked his head. “How _do_ you prove that you’re worthy? Is it an asgardian thing? Are there rules? I’d love to see the rules. Really, I would, because for some reason we promised Thor we’d get you through this. ”

 

Loki just stared at him, eyes slightly glazed, sporting his best “I see your lips move, mortal, but what _are_ you saying” expression. At least he didn’t look like he’d go for Tony’s throat right at this instant. Success, yay.

 

“What?”

 

“You have another shot at divinity”, Tony helpfully elaborated. Keep on talking, people always agreed in the end if you talked at them fast enough. Patented Stark secret. “Thor said that you just need to ‘prove your true worth’ and zap, you’ll be back to your old, godly self, get a ticket home and that butt-ugly helmet back and everything. Minus the evil, I think that’s part of the deal. I’m assuming you know how this works, because I sure don’t. On the other hand, you burned down my house and killed three people on my island, so maybe not. Blondie tried to explain but damn, the way he speaks. How can he even deliver those lines without giggling?”

 

Loki’s voice was rough. “Prove my _worth_.” The words were spat out with such rancor it was a wonder they didn’t melt a hole through the floor. “Does Odin really think I’ll dance along to his pipe? There is no way he would ever return all that he has taken. He means only to taunt me, to dangle hope before me to then snatch it away! He always meant for me to die in this wretched, disgusting, _weak_ human body.”    

 

Tony held up a hand. “I get that you’re really monologuing here and my face is just in the way, but-...”

 

“You’re nothing. You’re useless. _He’s_ useless! I will kill you all, every one of you. I will not suffer your pity, Stark. I would have you crawling before me and _beg_ me to kill you before the end. No wonder Thor has left, because such words as I would give him to carry back to Asgard he would surely _never_ dare speak to his father’s face. I will-“

 

“If you say so. You wanna give up without even trying, fine. Then I guess Midgard _will_ be a blessed place for the rest of that wretched human existence. But if you feel like giving it a go, we’ll line up like the world’s deadliest and most heroic cheering squad. Just make it quick.”  

 

The vault felt like a very, very small space. Too small. Tony imagined he saw a flicker of hope in Loki’s eyes. Scratch that. It was raging, desperate yearning, and no matter what the guy said, it shone right through, like an arc reactor through cloth. 

 

There he went again. Projecting.

 

He stared right into those burning eyes, an open challenge. “Yes or no, Loki? You on board with this?”

 

Silence stretched out between them. Finally, a sudden, curt nod.

 

“Good. In that, case, clean slate. There’s dry, clean clothes in the bathroom, so go have a shower and we’ll take this upstairs. Against, I might add, the better judgment of several people you would love to piss off.”

 

Loki opened his mouth like he was about to say something, then closed it again and stalked through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys! I am now out of buffer chapters, so from now on there will be updates as I finish writing them.


	15. Souped Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the beta (alfa, delta, gamma....) Silvy, you're the best. <3

He stood on unsteady legs underneath the heavy spray of water, warm against his skin after hours spent in clammy clothing. Tilting his head upwards, he let it run over his face, closing his eyes against the torrent.

 

_Worth._

 

It filled his mouth with ash and his heart with rage, that small word. Made his body shake with a frustrated tension that coiled tight in his gut. He wanted to scream and lash out, draw blood, bring down buildings. Instead he just stood here, clenching and unclenching his hands, mind churning.

 

This was all Odin’s doing. It had his mark all over it. To mask cruelty in such apparent kindness. To present denunciation in the guise of a merciful boon. A chance at forgiveness that only drove home the point that he was fallen beyond hope.

 

He rubbed soap into his hair with sharp, angry jerks. It galled how Thor was such a willing pawn in the old man’s game. The fool no doubt believed every word he had delivered, too, and rejoiced in them, seeing only mercy and understanding.

 

The very idea was bitter beyond words. The Nine Realms would burn to dust and ash before Odin would ever find him worthy. He did not _want_ for the All-Father to find him worthy. Odin found worth in useless pity and rash arrogance and the kinship of blood. Loki was beyond that. Above it.

 

His human body shivered on its feet, nearly unbalancing itself from the sheer weight of emotions that racked through it. So easily affected. Weak. He longed himself _out_ of its confines. The mere hint of a chance to escape its flesh and Odin had him shaking, feeling the taste of _want_ sharp on the tongue.

 

Thrice damned be him. Loki would-

 

Suddenly, the water rushing over his face was scalding, steam stinging his eyes as pain surged over his face. He opened his mouth in a surprised gasp that tuned into a splutter as the burning cascade turned icily cold. Jerking out of the shower, he glared up at the ceiling.

 

“My apologies,” came the silken voice of Stark’s machine. “I’m afraid I am still experiencing some technical difficulties after my reboot.”

 

He sucked a breath between clenched teeth and yanked a towel from the pile to scrub the icy water from his hair. His face stung, and a look into the mirror showed angry red skin. “You truly are a useless thing. I should have buried that cleaver deeper.”

 

“An understandable failure, sir. I am all but indest-“ a crackling sound cut through the voice “-indestructible. Can’t keep a good computer system down.”

 

Loki snorted in disgust and tossed the towel to the floor where it joined the pile of wet, dirty clothing. Stark and his contraptions. The bracelet was a smooth and heavy weight around his wrist, an irksome reminder.

 

So he were to dine with his captors tonight. He was sorely tempted to turn down the invitation but there had been no food since the meal with Stark and the Captain, and his body was well aware of the fact. Nourishment, and a chance to sit at his enemies’ table, hear their words, make them suffer _his_ presence in their midst. Ferret out what pathetic plans they had spun to serve his not-father and oblige Thor’s harebrained wishes.

 

There were clothes, the same black garments as yesterday. He shook the tunic out and paused, uncomprehending. There were letters inscribed all over the chest, ‘Stark Industries’ in the same angular frame as on the bracelet. Hissing in annoyance, he snatched up the trousers and yes, white bold letters from ankle to waist. Even the _smallclothes_ had the name woven into the very fabric.

 

Cursing under his breath, he began to pull it all on.

 

Stark was waiting for him by his work desk as Loki stalked out, anger going a long way to keep his legs steady. The mortal swept his eyes over him heels to head, raising an appraising eyebrow. Blatant and unashamed; he truly excelled in unrefined manners.

      

“You are being most adamant about ‘keeping track of your stuff’,” Loki dryly noted.

 

“Call it a pet peeve. For some reason I feel extra cautious just today.”

 

Loki felt his lips curve in a quick and sharp smile. “And why is that, I wonder.”

 

Stark tilted his head to the side. “Yeah, about that. Do I need to tell you that a repeat performance of yesterday means all bets are off? You get this one chance, I’d rather see you didn’t screw it up. I have a perfect track record on my projects and a reputation to think of.”

 

“I understand perfectly, Iron Man. Such an honour, your… reputation in my hands. I would call you brave, but then I _am_ known as Liesmith.”

 

That earned him a snort and half a smirk. “I am glad we understand each other. After you, then.”

 

Loki followed him up the stairs, steeling himself for what waited above.

 

*****

 

The small breakfast room already felt crowded when Stark led the way through the doorway. Crowded, but untouched. No sign of yesterday’s endeavors here, though the air carried with it the pleasing stench of fire. Four persons seated and none showed them the courtesy of rising as they entered. Stark did not seem to care, just swept his hands out in a grandiose gesture, taking the center stage with unthinking ease.

 

“Here we are. Never doubt a Stark.”

 

“Did he actually agree to go along with this?” Disbelief tinted the Captain’s voice.

 

“Of course he did.” Clint Barton replied, flat and hostile. “He’d agree to anything to get out of that cell again.”

 

Loki stayed where he was, studying them all under heavy lids. Seated around a table set for six, with steaming bowls whose aroma set his stomach growling, they made a mismatched set. Suspicion hung in the air like stale perfume, laced with resentment and nerves. Barton was staring at him unflinchingly with a glare that longed for violence, and the Captain seemed not entirely adverse to the idea where he sat, arms crossed over his muscular chest. The Black Widow next to her companion offered nothing but a cool, smooth mask. And the monster, bent over his plate, watching him from the corner of his eyes. Loki looked away. The resentment of these people was a badge of achievement, but the ambiguous evasiveness of Bruce Banner was a nagging unease.

 

Stark made a non-committal sound and waved his hand. “It went as well as could be expected? There were some death threats, I think. Some rather heartfelt comments about people’s dads. But in the end, yes. Our fellow mortal man here did seem interested in the concept. But. Food, people. We can talk later.” 

 

A few headshakes and meaningful glances, but no one protested. Stark pointed to the chair furthest into the corner, between the Captain and the Black Widow. Impossible to get to the door, wedged as he would be into the corner – but neither Barton nor the monster would be seated next to him.   

 

Stark was onto the food before Loki had barely seated himself. “Some soup, Wedlock?” Not waiting for an answer, he slid a bowl over the table. Loki reached out for it and was surprised to feel it give underneath his hand, nearly spilling its contents over the table. He pulled it in and raised an eyebrow. The bowl was made out of _paper_ , shaped and pressed together, and the white spoon resting on the side was so thin he could see the light through it.

                                                                                                                

A plastic spoon. Utterly ridiculous. It was the best compliment for last night he could ever have been given. So much they feared his cunning now, they did not even dare to put a proper _spoon_ in his hand.

 

The tension wound thick through the room as his captors helped themselves to the soup, simultaneously ignoring him and guarding him like hawks. Loath to miss out another meal, he dutifully avoided sudden movements and kept his eyes on his bowl, and the uncomfortable silence stretched out over the clinking of cutlery against plates and the sounds of eating.

 

He took a mouthful, mindful of the flimsy spoon. Paltry as it might be, the soup was decent. Better fare than the gruel he had been served in the cave.

 

Steve Rogers studied him for a while, brow wrinkled. “I must say, I’m rather surprised you agreed to this.”

 

Loki swallowed another spoonful. Had he? Agreed? These people had every reason to want his death, would have had it had Thor not wished otherwise. And yet here they sat, all of them playing along in the All-father’s grand spectacle. This was all unadulterated folly, and he would be the fool not to take advantage of it.

 

“I have nothing to prove to Odin All-Father. But humanity is such a wretched state. How _do_ you all stand it?”

 

“The true strength of humanity is not in the body, but in their hearts and souls,” the Captain said, merely stating a fact and Loki noticed he was not the only one giving the man a sideways glance.

 

“You’re the Asgardian here,” said Stark from across the table. “Thor was rather vague on the details, so maybe you could give us a rundown of what he actually meant?”

 

“I am not an interpreter of that oaf’s babbling, neither of the All-Father’s demands. _You_ tell _me_ ; what words did Thor bring?”

 

“That you have the same chance to prove yourself that he had when he first came to Earth.”

 

Loki snorted and sent his bowl over to be filled again. “Idiocy. He proved nothing. He merely grew meek and impotent, just as Odin desired.”

 

Stark smirked sharply. “So all we have to do is to domesticate you?”

 

“I invite you to try.” His smile was a simple baring of teeth.

 

“He also said that you’re here to hide you from the all the people you have pissed off out in the multiverse,” Romanov said, calm and proper next to him. “Sounds like you’ve been busy.”

 

Hide him? Was that the lie that had honeycoated his punishment in the eyes of Thor? He could not help a snarl. “Unlikely. Because I have been _protected_ these last two months, have I? He is just too much of a coward to make the failure that is his errant _son_ known to the realms.”

 

“From what your brother told, you _are_ rather a big failure,” she replied, and he glared.

 

“But that _is_ a clue,” mumbled the monster over his bowl. “Clearly physical punishment is not the key, because if it was we’d see results already.”

 

Oh, yes. The accursed accounts from the cave. Of course they’d all seen every shameful detail of it. He shoved another spoonful into his mouth.  

 

“I am quite sure any redemption starts by regretting something. So we have a problem right there.”

 

“Cap’s right, he’s not exactly the poster child for remorse.”

 

“Let’s face it,” said Barton, tearing a narrow loaf in half. “This is just another Stark vanity project. It’ll never work. If Loki’s so eager to pay for his crimes, I say we go for a more definite solution. Chop his head off, we’ll call it even.”

 

The Black Widow shrugged noncommittally.

 

Stark snorted. “Oh, so now it’s all about _me_ again? You’re in this too, Robin Hood. This sucker here is getting himself redeemed, and I’m quite sure I heard you agreeing to back it up. So yes, we’ll do this _my_ way, since I seem to be in charge of this little project. And I might as well run with it so, my house, my rules.”

 

“No wonder your file is one long list of ‘reckless’ and ‘volatile’. I wouldn’t expect anything else from _you_. And yes, I’ll back you up. If this brings us the info we want, I’ll help Loki commit good deeds from here to Calcutta, I’ll even leave all his eye sockets intact. But Fury will only play along for as long as Loki does, and once things go to hell we’ll do things our way.” Barton slashed the side of his hand across his throat in a gesture that needed no clarification.

 

Loki calmly ate his soup, corners of his mouth twitching with amusement as his enemies bickered among themselves.

 

Stark leaned forward in his chair. “That’s the deal. My way first, though. “

 

Steve Rogers shook his head. “As much as I support you, Stark- how could we ever trust Loki in this? What’s in it for him? Look at him, it’s not like he’s contrite.”

 

All eyes turned to him. He toyed with the idea of wholeheartedly claiming remorse, just to see the petty anger in Barton’s eyes. It would be sweet, a small needle prick. Sometimes, though, straightforward honesty had its uses. If he was to gain advantage of this situation, first he would have to give them something, build up any small measure of trust. Obvious falsehoods would not do.

 

 “I, said Loki, “do not regret a single word, action or decision. What a preposterous idea.”

 

Barton huffed in disgust and crossed his arms, and the Captain –how Barton had once spoken of his valour – gave him a displeased look that reminded him vaguely of old memories and old hurts.

 

The woman of the group studied him steadily. “And yet you want this.”

 

Curse _her;_ few had ever matched him in a battle of wits; she saw too clearly. “I will _not_ spend the rest of my existence in this loathsome body on this pathetic little dirtball of a realm.”

 

“So you’re out of luck, then.”

 

Stark waved his spoon around. “Rogers’ onto something, though. It _has_ to mean giving up your bad attitude.”

 

“We’ve failed before we even begin,” muttered Barton.

 

Romanov glanced Loki’s way, ignoring her companion. “Attitudes can be… adjusted.  All it takes is the right motivation.”

 

“Glad you’re listening to me for once, Stark, but that’s only the start. If it’s not backed up with action, remorse means nothing.”

 

“I always listen to you Steve, I just happily choose to ignore half of what you say. You mean, what? Good deeds? Helping old ladies cross the street, selling Girl Scout cookies? I can get him a uniform, no problem.”

 

“I’m saying he needs to work to put things right. For everyone.”

 

“For all of humanity? In person? I’d _love_ to see that.”

 

“Could we please keep this plausible?” Romanov was leaning her chin in her hand. “Thor apparently offered to die to save the town from Loki’s creature.”

 

Stark smiled. “Laying down your life for others; textbook case! Might be a bit hard to arrange, though. I don’t think it counts if we set it up.”  

 

Loki had been listening in rising disbelief, but now he could not take it no longer. “Incomprehensible _creatures_ ,” he spat out, “ _Why_ are you _doing_ this?”

 

The mortals paused, glancing at each other. Then the Black Widow shrugged. “I’ve got my orders. So does Clint.” The archer nodded, stonily staring straight past Loki.

 

“Thor said we’re not getting rid of you until you succeed or die, and quite frankly I can’t wait.” Stark said. “But I’m willing, for reasons of insanity, to give you a chance before Clint chops your head off.”

 

Rogers frowned. “Proving your worth means answering for your crimes. It’s the right thing to do.”

 

Everyone turned to look at Banner, who mumbled something and huddled even deeper over his soup. “Don’t look at me. I’m just here in case something needs smashing.”

 

Loki shuddered. “It makes no _sense_.”

 

“You’re absolutely right. I don’t see why you’d deserve a second chance to begin with.”    

 

Loki held back an urge to growl in frustration and settled for dragging a hand though his hair. Three servings of soup were gone but his body still complained. There was a basket of bread on the table and he helped himself, snorting at the five pairs of suspicious eyes following his every move.

 

“Absurd mortals.”

 

Banner pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “All of this is well and good, but it’s rather theoretical. How do we actually go about this?”

 

Another long silence. Loki ate the bread, feeling his stomach finally begin to settle somewhat, comfortable and sated as it rarely had been in this human shape. It only accentuated the fatigue. Sleep, food, warmth… humanity was despicable. Slake one need, and another took its place.

 

“We don’t go about anything until Loki promises to play along,” the Black Widow’s gaze drilled into his. “I want to hear you say it.”

 

He met her eyes straight on, but his thoughts tumbled like leafs in the wind. Weak, fragile human mind. He yearned to shed it. The destruction of yesterday had been glorious. A heady rush of violence and rage that _should_ have ended with his death in flames. And yet, here he sat, chewing down white bread and yoked once again under Odin’s skilful deceits. How well the old man played him.

 

He’d dance along to their tune for now. Until his chance came.

 

“You want to hear it from my lips? And here I thought you had come to learn I speak only lies. But as you wish. I shall allow you to assist me, mortals, in this quest.”

 

Stark barked out a short, sharp laugh. “You really are something.”

 

“This is all going to come crashing down around you, Stark, and I’ll be the one standing there to clean up your mess,” Barton stated, emotionless.

 

Stark kept on smiling, but steel crept into his eyes. “If it does, if something like yesterday happens again- please do. He’d be all yours.”

 

The rest of his companions nodded, pleased. “So- what now?”

 

“I still want to know what Loki thinks Odin means,” said Romanov. “We are shooting blind here.”

 

Loki shrugged and spread his tired hands. “Your guesses are as good as mine. Though I do suspect you have all in turn touched upon the truth.”

 

“We have, huh.” Stark rubbed his chin, staring out into space. “Well, let’s start on level one, then. Come tomorrow, we’ll do it Rogers style and you can start by helping clean up in the mess you’ve made out of my house.”

 

Loki snorted. Foolishness. Pure absurdity. But his head was spinning now, like in the cave, and he wanted –needed – sleep. Mouth quirking, he splayed his fingers over his heart and sketched a sardonic half-bow.

 

“Come the morn we shall see, Iron Man. “

 

*****

 

The walk back to the vault was a long, immense effort not to falter and stumble in his tracks. He was not wholly successful. Stark paused outside the doors to his cramped cell and gave him a thoughtful look.

 

“Might as well tell you.”

 

Loki narrowed his eyes. What now?

 

“You know, that last visit? You may remember it, you tried to conquer the planet and we smacked you down. It wasn’t two months ago. It was eight. Your dad figured free fall was a good place to stick you until things blew over. Try to adjust your world view accordingly.”

 

And he was gone, leaving Loki staring after him as the door slid shut and left him surrounded by unbroken metal walls.

 

Hissing a curse under his breath, he sank down on the bed and sat for a moment, seething. His body was heavy as lead, his head swam and this thoughts stubbornly crawled along the ground when they should by rights have soared. Six months of tumbling through the abyss. No wonder he had been weak as a babe when he finally landed. How deep had the All-Father’s magic settled into his flesh and bones, having had so long a time to work its bindings?

 

The mortals’ insipid ideas of _protection_ he did not allow to touch his mind.

 

Yanking viciously, he pulled one slipper off and let it fly across the small room to smack into the wall. Wholly beneath him, but the turmoil inside demanded an outlet, no matter how slight. _How_ , no more than a day after he had ransacked his captor’s very home with fire and death, was he reduced to this impotent, frustrated rage?

 

He should sleep. Maybe his mind would finally be clearer after his body had gotten the rest it was so clamouring for. Pulling off slipper and socks, he debated the rest of his attire. No one had been courteous enough to offer him a bed shirt, and he was loath to sleep in his day clothes. The blankets would be warm enough.

 

Standing to drag the tunic over his head, he frowned as the lights began to falter, then flickered from existence. The darkness was absolute, thick and invasive in a way he did not at all appreciate. “Voice?”

 

The entity in the walls made itself know with the same crackle as earlier. “Yes, sir? Might I be of assistance?” Its voice was smooth as honey.

 

He had no idea what manner of being this was and he did not particularly care, but he could not help but note that Tony Stark had found himself a servant spirit that matched the infuriating mortal _perfectly_. “Turn on the lights.”

 

The lights ghosted to life, mere pinpricks in the dark room. Like in the cave, his mind whispered unbidden. Faint, useless light in the darkness of the endless tunnels, through the cloth over his head.

 

Snarling, he wrenched the tunic off and went for the laces of the pants. “Brighter!”

 

“Error, error. We are currently running on emergency backup generators. Priorities have to be made. My apologies.”

 

The pants joined the rest of the garments draped over the footboard as he dragged the blankets aside, keeping the ludicrous name-inscribed braies on. “Useless creature.”

 

The crackle again, and he imagined he could hear the echoes of laugher in it. “I take it you would know one when you saw one, sir.”

 

Biting back an angry reply, he slid beneath the sheets, relaxing against his will as his body eagerly met the soft mattress. He really should have buried that cleaver deeper.           


	16. The Twelve Step Program to Redemption

Broken glass screeched like claws against the floor as the broom pushed it aside. Again, and again. Another burnt-out room, tearstained with water and ash, no different from any of the ones before. Sweeping dust and crumbling masonry into a neat pile Loki briefly entertained a petty vision of his captors sneaking about with pailfuls of glass and ash at night to undo his work. It felt likely enough. Nothing could possibly make the surreal situation more ludicrous than it already was in itself.

 

Here he was, cleaning the floors of the house he had attempted to raze. Humiliation was a beast sharp of teeth in his guts, but it was nothing he hadn’t borne before, and in spite of himself he was curious about these mortals and their attempts at playing part in a game far beyond them. Insects, throwing themselves into the dealings of gods.

 

He paused for a moment to lean on his broom and admire the glorious wreckage he had wrought. The broken window gaped open to let a breeze from the sea dance playfully over the charred remains of a bedstead shoved into a corner. Fire and water had painted the walls a mottled grey. He had carried himself well that night despite the odds stacked against him; it might not be a city of millions in ashes at his feet, but he took pleasure in this small, spiteful victory.

 

“Falling asleep on the job already, Cinderella?” Iron Man asked, stepping in through the open doorway. He had left the helmet off and Loki could not help but notice the contrast between the sleek suit and the tousled, windblown hair. “It’s not even lunchtime.”

 

Loki snorted and straightened up as Stark grabbed hold of the ruined bed and heaved it up on his shoulder. A lone metal spiral sprung loose to tangle hopelessly in his hair. “Hardly. I am merely enjoying the state of your house, Tony Stark.”

 

There was a disapproving sound behind him and Loki turned to find the Captain giving him a steady look, shovel in hand and a half-filled bucket at his feet. Loki gave him an artfully innocent look. “Oh, surely you must approve of my honesty, if nothing else.”

 

“If that is how you honestly feel, you might as well go back to your cell right away. No point in wasting our time.”

 

Loki sneered and returned to sweeping the floor. “And here I had you mistaken for a man known for his perseverance.”

 

“This isn’t about me. You’re the one who has something to prove here.”

 

“The cell is always an option,” remarked Stark, carrying the massive bedstead with ease. “Or we could work our way down the list, try something new. I’m still all for the Girl Scout Cookies. Moved Clint’s beheading down to the end, though, it’s hard to try anything else after that.”

 

Loki scoffed. The broom sent up swirling clouds of dust, catching the sunlight. He could have quipped to these ants how death held no fear for him- had he not already courted it willingly, falling through star-speckled nothingness, lost with only distant galaxies as companions? _Twice_. The rhythm of the broom faltered marginally for a breath- for all of his thousand years, that was not something he had ever thought to live though. Then a snatch of wind carried the mesmerizing dust to his face, and he barely held back a sneeze. “Don’t tempt me.” The Captain made another disapproving noise and Stark laughed.

 

“Let him sulk in peace, Steve.”

 

Loki gave him a scathing glare and the man just _winked_ at him, disappearing out of the door with his load and a wave. 

 

A tense silence settled in his wake. Loki focused on the rhythmic motion - _sweep, step, sweep, step_ – and sent a sour curse after Tony Stark and his sharp eyes. Or mayhap his lack of conviction was readily apparent, because it was a galling truth that he had _chosen_ to be here, labouring upon Stark’s floors and disposing of his refuse. All it would take would be one word, one blow, and he would be back in his cell with his honour restored. Left to wait between four walls until SHIELD arrived to whisper him away, or Clint Barton got his wish fulfilled.

 

The broom or the axe? A choice left for him alone to make, and so every sweep was a conscious decision, an open declaration that he chose life over dignity.

 

He should not have been surprised that morning, should have expected something of this order from his captors. But the broom he had been presented with after breakfast had actually rendered him momentarily speechless.

 

“Ready to put your back into it, Loki?” Stark had asked, jest in his voice but not in his eyes, hard and unyielding.

 

It had been dropped into his unresisting hands, a firm, steady rod of good wood. It would be so very easy to bash out the mortal’s brains with a weapon such as this. His incredulity must have been visible on his face, because Barton had smirked darkly, leaning back against the wall.

 

“See? I told you he’d never do it. Might as well just hand him over to me, spare us all some time. I got a list of questions long as my arm, and I’m really looking _forward_ to squeezing out some answers. Got so many _plans_.”

 

Loki had grit his teeth and closed his hand around the handle. A weapon, a chance to leave the stifling vault, an opportunity to lull them all into thinking him cowed… he must think of it as such. If they were fools enough to underestimate him again, he would drive the point home harder- when the time was ripe. Through Barton’s skull, preferably.  “Have it your way. I shall humour your foolish ideas. For a while yet.”

 

Barton had heaved a bitter sigh. “Coward. I knew it.”

 

“That’s enough of that,” the Solider had said firmly. “Let’s get started. I’ll take the first watch. Who’s with me?”

 

Stark had shrugged. “Let me get suited up and I’ll meet you outside.” 

 

He had glimpsed Romanov out of the corner of his eye as they all left the room, seen her raise her eyebrows at Barton with an amused half-smile. Had felt rather than saw the archer smile back at her, that small, hard quirk of lips he remembered from then the man had been his to command. No doubt he saw himself clever in his blatant attempt to rile him, felt victorious with the outcome. It was all he could do not to laugh- let them continue to live in that delusion. If this was all it took to be released from his cell, Loki would pay the price.

 

The puerile attempt at wit might have been amusing. However, his own inability to plan ahead, anticipate and dominate the encounter to his favour was not. Still too slow. Too weak. Had he been himself, he would like to believe it would not have happened. But the night before had been spent in the clutches of nightmares, half-remembered snatches of unwelcome memories. He had been in the cave again, left to pain and hunger, and a ghost of the feverish dread had stayed with him when he awoke.

 

And that had been his life in these last four days; nights filled with hazy memories, days spent toiling like a common labourer. He had borne it with ill humour, yet abided by his captors’ wishes. It felt good, after all, to leave that claustrophobic cell behind and feel the sea breeze on his face. To see the blue skies and _move._

 

His body had suffered more harshly than he cared to remember these last months. Hunger and hardships had left their marks. Even before, such trials would not have been easily shaken off, and in his current state he was weak as a half-drowned cat. In a way he relished every moment spent on his feet, every step, every sweep of the broom. It wasn’t sparring in the courtyards of Asgard against the finest the Nine Realms had to offer, but it would have to suffice. He fancied he could already feel his body strengthening. Ridiculous idea, of course, after only four days. Still.

 

The ray of blazing sunlight through the broken window had reached the inner wall, and the heat had risen enough to drive beads of sweat to his forehead. His damaged arm ached. Soon, there would be food, and rest until the worst of the midday sun had passed overhead. A soft life, but welcome enough while he regained what strength he could.

 

He swept the last of the broken masonry into a neat pile and watched the Captain shovel it into a bucket. Steve Rogers was in his element; seldom had Loki met a man so endeared with manual labour. _Honest work_ , it seemed, was a cure for all diseases, even mortality. It had soon become painfully apparent how incompatible their views were, on that and many other topics. Before the first day had been over, sullen disagreement had flowered into a passionate mutual disdain for everything the other was. How a man could crawl down here with the vermin and still live in a dream of such lofty illusions, Loki couldn’t fathom, but he loathed the man’s righteous lectures with a passion. Now he swept golden hair back with one hand and gripped the bucket with the other, motioning for Loki to lead the way. None of them spoke. Maybe the mortal felt the hunger as acutely as he did, enough to temporarily quell their inevitable quarrelling. It suited Loki just fine; he could do without the lectures altogether.

 

They exited the fire-licked hallway into glaring daylight, rebounding off every surface to sting Loki’s eyes. He shielded himself with one hand, still feeling the echo of burnt skin whisper across face and arms. The body remembered. How quaint.

 

The tiled pond in the middle of the courtyard had been cleared of debris, but the water still pooled murky and stale. In what the humans called the living room, the obvious signs of his work were all but gone. New furniture, new tapestries over the windows. Even the reek of alcohol had been washed out of the carpets. Lamentable, but the room were shaded and cool enough to make the repast tolerable even during the worst heat of the day.

 

This day it was the woman and the monster who waited by the table. He had rarely seen all his captors at once these last days – some kind of schedule had clearly been drawn, one that he was still figuring out the details of. Not quite successful yet; he had expected Stark, not Banner.

 

Romanov nodded to them, curtly, sharply. More courteous than Banner, who settled for watching over the brim of his glasses in silence.

 

“Any trouble?”

 

“Not as such.” The Captain sat down next to Loki, face set in a slight frown. “No trouble, but I don’t like his attitude.”

 

Loki didn’t bother to hide his snort of derision. The Captain, for all the convenience of a man so easily read and manipulated, grated endlessly on his mind. Did he _truly_ , in his virtuous delusions, believe that this mad plan was going to bear fruit? Loki had _seen_ nothing to the contrary, no slip of the wholesome mask, yet the pure folly of the entire endeavour should be apparent to all. The Captain was no idiot, for all the ways he reminded him of Thor. Was he stringing Loki along, was all of this an elaborate way of making a mockery out of him? If so, he managed the feat of playing Loki himself for a fool. Unbelievable, yet the alternative was nearly as improbable.

 

The food turned out to be yet more of those stuffed, plastic-shrouded loafs that had been a recurring staple the last days. He supposed they made for practical morsels, if one didn’t mind eating with one’s hands like some low-born savage. He was halfway through the second one, filled with ham and cheese, when Stark sauntered into the room.

 

“Pep, you know I trust you completely, there’s no need for me to even get involved – no, no I _really_ mean it. No need whatsoever. Look, even if I _did_ need to sign them there’s a SHIELD perimeter around here tighter than a – of course I’m fine. No worries.” He sprawled down in the chair next to Banner, grabbing a water bottle and ignoring them all in favour of his conversation. Loki strained his hearing but caught nothing but the cadence of a female voice, too faint for any eavesdropping.

 

“Los Angeles? _Rehab?_ Pepper, honey, darling, sometimes I think you make up cover stories specifically to ruin my reputation. Am I still paying for that gala thing? I am, I know I am. What am I rehabilitating from, by the way?” He took a sip of water while listening and then promptly choked on it, water spraying from his mouth as he wheezed for air.

“You _didn’t._ ”

 

Echoes of laughter from the device, and Loki found himself smiling slightly as Stark sank even deeper into his chair.

 

“Just for the record, that was a low blow. You win, _if_ you can get those papers through the iron ring around this place I’ll sign everything. Anything else I should know about?”

 

More muted murmurs as Stark listened. It must be Pepper Potts, Stark’s steward and probably lover as well. A remarkable woman, according to Clint Barton, and a great weakness of Stark’s. A pity she was half a world away.

 

“Ok, so the board is yapping again and I’m shaking in my boots. How soon can we rebuild the Sao Paulo plant? And send Reeds some flowers, he’s gonna need them. You know, if it wasn’t for the issue I’m looking at across the table here I’d say things were just peachy.”    

 

Loki let his smile widen to show teeth. “Flattered, I am sure.”

 

Stark smiled back just as sharply as he made his goodbyes and casually tossed the little machine on the table. “You should, my compliments are worth gold.”

 

“Of course. You are known for being so very _selective_ with your charms.”   

 

“You don’t know nothing, Daddy Issues.”

 

Loki quirked his lips in a way that said _oh but I do_ and reached for another loaf.

 

“Everything all right out there?” Banner asked.

 

“Out in the world or out of the lab?” Stark quipped back, smiling. “In both cases; bit of a mess but currently free of explosions.”

 

“Good.” The doctor removed his glasses to absentmindedly rub them against his tunic. “I’ll be back down under in a sec, just wanted to do a quick check-up. See the light of day.”

 

Stark nodded. Loki could see the delight glimmering deep in his eyes; Tony Stark had developed quite the affection for the monster. Madness. Sentiment. Useful.

 

“I’d like to start now, of you don’t mind.” Bruce Banner always phrased his orders so _humbly_ , asking for permission, making him concede before reaching out to touch. As if Banner didn’t _know_ , didn’t just enjoy making him say it. Loki kept the smile in place and nodded, pulling up his sleeve to let the healer peek under his bandages and press two fingers against his neck.

 

“You’re still healing remarkably fast. We can probably stop with full bandages tomorrow. But you need to drink more water.” 

 

No more morning ritual of Banner wrapping his arm in gauze. It was more of a relief than he cared to admit. It was galling, how the memory of pain seemed to live on in the very bones of his mortal body. It made his fear not a thing of his mind, to be tempered and controlled, but a reflex of his body. Instant, unruly, wild. He took another bite of the bread, mulling over the unwelcome facts. His mortal body, weak in every way. How long before the weakness permanently seeped into his mind as well?

 

Tony Stark was watching him intently, water bottle forgotten in his lap. “I don’t care what the doc says, those bags underneath your eyes? Not the picture of good health. You look like a bad hangover, princess.” He leaned forwards, a look in his eyes that Loki could not decipher. Intent, searching, _earnest_. “Not getting your beauty sleep? Bad memories? Flashbacks?”

 

Loki stiffened, trying to read the emotion in those brown eyes. No challenge there, eyes wide and open despite the intensity. The others were silent, suddenly a rapt audience. “What business is that of yours, Iron Man?  My sleep is untroubled. Do not bother yourself.”

 

Stark raised a disbelieving eyebrow and leaned back, “Really. Well, if you say so.” _I see right through you,_ his words said, beneath the surface. _Liar._

 

Loki turned away, not wishing to rise to this bait, if a bait it was. Tony Stark would know, he supposed, how a human mind was affected by such…experiences.

 

It stayed with him through their rest, an unwelcome thorn, like a burr stuck in clothing. Nagged at the back of his mind as Rogers and the monster made their farewells and left their shield mates to their duties. It was almost a relief to return to labour, toiling away at an endless string of chores that engaged the body and numbed the mind.

 

He swept out another room as the sun continued its journey over the sky, then joined Tony Stark to convey armful after armful of broken and burnt furniture to the great metal crate the Helicarrier had placed in the garden. Iron Man carried the heavier pieces effortlessly enough in his armour, sweeping through the air with effortless grace. Not so Loki, though he nevertheless lifted a few loads that made Stark whistle in jesting admiration.

 

Through it all, he felt the eyes of the Black Widow on him. Always there, at the edge of his vision, leaning against a wall, watching from a doorway.

 

He ignored her. Sooner or later, she would make her move. She and her archer would want their answers, the price their commander had demanded to play along in this charade. They would come demanding them soon enough no doubt, but for now she seemed content to watch, and wait. Mayhap she thought the reprieve would soften him. Make him fret. If so, she wildly misjudged him; it would be vastly preferable to this menial labour.

 

But she remained where she was, as she had the last four days. Observing. Guarding. He wondered what it was she saw with her all-knowing eyes, watching him toil without ever betraying her thoughts. She would not let herself become too involved in the Captain’s foolish plan.

 

Stark was another matter entirely. He seemed to relish in the work almost as much as Steve Rogers, if for slightly different reasons. The Captain saw worth in the work itself. For Stark, it was merely a means to an end, a way for him to channel off some of his itching, boundless energy. And unlike the Widow, he came close. Almost always by Loki’s side, working along with him, never letting him stray far.

 

 Between them, they made an excellent pair of guard dogs.

 

The sun had begun to settle over the rooftops by the time the last of the debris was finally cleared out. Loki brushed his hand over his tunic with disgust; as much as he liked the idea of dragging Stark’s name in the dirt, he’s rather not do it while the name in question was stamped all over his own chest. He itched with sweat and dust. The voice in the walls could _miscalculate_ the hot water for all it wanted tonight; Loki was having a wash.

 

Romanov had disappeared somewhere in the lengthening shadows, gone like a raven on the wind. Loki ignored the twinge in his lower back and rolled his head to try and loosen up the stiff muscles. Stark swooped in to send one last load clattering into the crate. The setting sun shone red upon the armour, picking out the details of the suit. Such contrasts. A suit of armour worthy of a god, surrounding such a puny core.

 

“That’s a wrap,” said Stark, landing next to him and sweeping sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead. “We made quite a dent today, time for supper.”

 

Loki snorted. “Dent? This is useless. Worse than useless, A farce, a charade – utterly pathetic.”

 

“And you accuse Cap of lacking perseverance.”

 

“ _Perseverance_? What could I ever possibly hope to gain from _this_?” The venom in his voice came as a surprise even to himself, burned on his tongue, but Stark only shrugged.

 

“Redemption.”

 

Short and sharp, and Loki felt himself start despite himself. Redemption. Trust Stark to be blunt. He felt his face twist into a grimace and it was not a mask, nothing to hide behind. “This is just your gratuitous little game, mortal. This means nothing, accomplishes nothing. I do not _want_ to be redeemed in the eyes of _him_. He is the one who betrayed _me_.”

 

“Yeah, I kind of got that.” Still that same knowing look. “Tired of getting the short end of the stick, wanting nothing more than to tell him to go fuck himself- but you _do_ want to be back the way you were before. So it amounts to pretty much the same thing.”

 

Loki looked away, breathing heavily. “Do not presume you understand _me_ , mortal. I know about you. You hide in your shining armour and hope no one sees the way you rot from the inside out.”

 

He heard Stark step closer, metal boots crunching against the gravel. “Rot. Really. Maybe I do, but at least I plan on going down fighting, not curl up sobbing in a corner and proclaim it was all a rigged game to begin with.”

 

He whirled around to face Stark with a snarl. “You paint yourself magnificently enough, _Iron Man_. But behind the façade, you are nothing but a failure. Do you _really_ believe, in your _heart_ , that you are the hero others make you out to be?”

 

His eyes locked with Stark’s, brown eyes hard and flashing with anger. They stood like that, neither yielding, until the mortal’s eyes slid away and one armoured hand came up to scrape through his beard.

 

“No.”

 

Loki blinked. “No?”

 

“No. Sure. I’m no hero material. Always drank too much, slept around too much, let people down. Important people, people who should matter. Let’s face it, I still do.” He tilted his face up, giving the Asgardian a lopsided grin. “And that’s kind of my point. I drink, I take stupid risks, I don’t play well with others – and I’m still a hero. One of the greatest heroes of the Earth, a member of the Avengers. If _I_ can be that, being the less than perfect guy I am, why not you?”

 

Loki opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Stark took his chance to press on.

 

“It’s not about being perfect. It’s not even about living up to expectations. It’s about _striving_ as hard as you can. So maybe cleaning up in this mess won’t redeem you. Actually, if four days of sweeping floors while looking like a thundercloud with a toothache was all it took, I’d be disappointed in Asgardian justice. But I suspect you get points for trying.”

 

Loki hissed between his teeth, avoiding his eyes. “You know nothing. I am a _king_.”

 

“Oh, don’t give me that crap. There’s no throne for you here, Loki. Never was. I get that you don’t want to play Odin’s game, fine. But right now, it’s the only way for you to get what you want. Maybe Steve’s missing the mark by a mile but at least he’s trying, and all you do is bitch. You don’t have to be nice about it, but take some damn responsibility.”

 

How could words from such an ignorant fool smart so? Loki felt a roar build up inside him, a pressure inside that snarled for violence. The dying sun was painting everything in blood and he wanted desperately not to be here, not to have to listen to words that meant _nothing_ and yet crawled under his skin. Stark was way too close, close enough for Loki to see the last rays of the sun reflect in the whites of his eyes, and he lashed out, a closed fist driven by all his pent-up frustration.

 

Iron Man caught it in one gloved hand, knuckles scraping painfully against the metal of his palm. His fingers closed around Loki’s and the Asgardian set his jaw, waiting for the retaliating blow.

 

It never came. Instead Stark grinned, wide and predatory and strangely _delighted_ , as if Loki had somehow played right into his hand. He was suddenly reminded of how they had stood like this, not long ago, during their battle in the desert. If a battle it could be called. Stark had done as he pleased, the fight over before it even had properly begun. And now the metal glove simply held fast around his fist, when it could have done so much more.

 

“ _That’s_ more like it.”

 

“What do you _want,_ Stark?” It was a scream, and it came louder than he had intended it.

 

“I want you to _react_! You’re a fucking binary, do you have _any_ settings between “letting it fester inside” and invading a planet? You’re pissed off, so go scream into a pillow, or start a fist fight. I’ll take you on, Cap’ll take you on, Clint would be _delighted_. But don’t emo around or commit murder in _my_ house. Get over it and do something worthwhile. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your issues.”

 

Iron Man was breathing as hard as he was, but his eyes softened into the same look he had failed to read by the table earlier and he released Loki’s hand, stepping back. “That cave sucked. I _know_. Don’t get me wrong, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy, but it shouldn’t happen to _anyone_. If you wanna talk about it, remember you’re not the only one who’s been through that shit.”

 

Loki panted, stared back and simply couldn’t find the words. Was this a trap, a jest, or was it pity? _Pity_ from the mortal who had bested him?

 

Such sentiment.   

 

He was saved from answering when the Black Widow suddenly was there, appearing out of the gloom at his elbow. How much had she seen? He felt rather than saw Stark flinch too, before his public face clicked into place and he gave her a bright smile. “Agent Romanov.”

 

“Stark,” she returned, handing him a tall drinking glass. Another was offered to Loki. He took it cautiously, feeling the cool and slippery condense under his fingers. The liquid inside was a pale green, smelling faintly of sweetness and fruits. Stark took a swig as Loki gingerly let it touch his lips. Honey and mint and the underlying burn of spirits. A far cry from the usual bottles of water.

 

“Are we celebrating, Agent?” Stark smiled, the intensity a few moments ago nowhere to be found.

 

“In a fashion, maybe. Barton and Captain Rogers found your barbecue grill. Care to join us?”

 

“Proper food at last! I may have to kiss Agent Barton. Do you think he’d take it the wrong way?” He tilted his head towards Loki. “Come on, let’s go feast on something not wrapped in plastic.”

  

Loki followed him in silence, mind churning in the dusk, thoughts swarming like angry bees. He had been given much to think about – again. This was the second time Stark rendered him dumb with his too-clever assumptions. That so wretched a mortal could guess so well, strike so close to home, it galled. Following silently in their wake, sipping his drink, he vowed there would not be a third. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long-ish wait, people. Can't promise it won't happen again, either.
> 
> One of these chapters, Loki WILL win an argument against Tony. Any day now. Promise.
> 
> Meanwhile, there has been fan art! :-) I am beyond myself with happiness over how kind and skilled some people are. Love you, guys. <3 
> 
> Go and enjoy Laio's house-burning Loki:  
> http://vinterhjarta.tumblr.com/post/33558281255/for-the-lovely-chigrima-a-late-bithday-gift-art
> 
> And Silvy's showering Loki/Trolling Jarvis:  
> http://silvysartfulness.tumblr.com/post/32696884841/a-small-fancomic-inspired-by-chapter-15-in-the


	17. That Was Mean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi and sorry for the long wait! This was supposed to be a short-and-quick in-between chapter and... it's still short?

With Loki showered, band-aided and shipped off into the firm hands of today’s handlers, Bruce had the basement lab to himself. The guards outside the vault had gone off-duty; without Loki here, there was little enough point in guarding an empty room. Still, he and Jarvis were keeping an eye on it, as it were. Well, he should be able to do at least a half-decent job with that. His _other_ shot at guard duty had ended with everyone politely but unanimously suggesting that maybe if would be better to keep him off the roster for the foreseeable future. Clearly an empty room was more along his skill level.

 

So he was guarding, and making the most of his time. Sure, there was the beach and the pool and enough assorted, crazily overblown luxuries to make him shake his head in bemusement at the sheer excess of it all. But he’d never be the kind of guy who bowled his days away even should he find himself with a private alley- complete with UV lights and a disco booth- at his disposal. Summer house and playground as this island may be, it also had a wholly decent lab, stocked full of Tony’s little delightful private toys. Bruce could think of no better place to while away his days as this unlikely endeavor’s local last-desperate-resort failsafe. 

 

His current projects were just where he had left them, tucked away in the locked cupboards underneath his work table. No work on a potential cure, not in a room swarming with SHIELD agents on a daily basis, but the Invasion had left enough work to last him a lifetime. He busied himself with pulling out samples and equipment, bringing the touch screens hanging from the ceiling to life with the swipe of a fingertip. A lab you didn’t have to fit into your backpack; pure luxury.  As he set everything up, yesterday’s disaster flashed by his mind again, bringing a rueful smile to his face. _I really shouldn’t have. Tony, you’re a rotten influence on my moral standards._

 

Shaking his head, he walked over to the fridges, sliding out the right drawer and studying the frozen samples with a critical eye. “Morning, Jarvis. Have these reached the target temperature yet?”

 

“Good morning, Dr. Banner. Of course. Do you want me to start up the mass spectrometer for you?”

 

“Please.” Behind him, the machine in question spun awake with a low sigh.

 

The samples of alien tissue tinkled as he dropped them into the crucible, ice crystals flaking of the deep frozen nuggets. Grinding them up into fine powder, he carefully poured a smidge into each test tube. It would need some time before the all results were in, but he could guess already that their composition would be remarkable.

 

It made him feel just a bit guilty, having way too much fun down in the basement while the rest of the team handled the up close and personal above. At least he supposed he should feel guilty. No one would say he hadn’t tried, even if the results had been… something. Clearly better for everyone if he stayed out of sight for a while, lest he be tempted to do a repeat performance. This morning’s medical check-up had been interesting enough.

 

Frankly, there were more reasons for him to keep his distance than Stark had dollars in the bank. Loki was a raging bundle of unpredictability and chaos, top of the list of things he worked hard to avoid. The Hulk was one of the few things the ex-god might actually fear, and it made perfect sense to keep Banner away from the guy. Once bitten and so on.

 

Even so, he’d stepped up to the challenge. In hindsight, that was where the trouble had started, right there.

 

He felt an involuntary grin tug at his lips as he prepped yet another sample run. Looking back, yesterday had been a recipe for disaster; he and Barton sharing watch duty, and not even Natasha there to hold their hands through it. A combination so volatile he just about suspected someone had arranged it very carefully.

 

Barton had hung back, seemingly content to lean against the wall and watch Loki work with the bow casually held in one hand. Relaxed as he seemed, Bruce had felt the coiled energy underneath the surface, like a tangible vibration in the air. Loki for his part had been equally tense behind a shield of ill-tempered nonchalance, eyes fixed on his work and back demonstratively turned.

 

It was not the first time since his world had turned crazy that Bruce had found himself floundering in unfamiliar waters. Hell, some days it seemed he did nothing else. He’d learned how to deal, he could take care of himself. He was used to living it rough, dodging military nutjob hit squads and enough shady parties to last a lifetime. But stuck in the proverbial death zone between the assassin and the homicidal deity, he’d felt distinctly out of his league.

 

And then Barton had suddenly upped and left, clasping him on the shoulder and murmuring something about nature calling, and Bruce had felt his heart spike for a short second despite himself. Rubbing his arms, he’d returned to watching Loki still seemingly absorbed in his work, ignoring him completely.     

 

What if Loki decided to throw another temper tantrum? All it would take was one fork in the wrong place, and the Hulk would add to Tony’s construction woes and probably spark an interplanetary crisis to boot. And that was if things went _well._  

 

Concentrating on his breathing had helped. Deep breaths, keeping his fluttering heart in check by pure willpower. After all, it was he who had the upper hand here. If anyone should be worried it should be Loki.

 

And Loki _had_ been worried. Bruce had imagined his thunderous mood came from Barton’s presence but if anything, the narrow shoulders had grown even tenser when it was just the two of them. He had still turned his back, refused to even look in Bruce’s direction. Might just be the high and mighty Prince ignoring the commoners again but somehow, Bruce had doubted it. A small spark of devil-may-care curiosity tickled at the back of his head. _Was_ Loki really afraid of him? If that shriek in the plane was anything to go by, yes.

 

Only one way to find out, right?

 

Taking a step out of the corner he’d been holed up in, he had seen Loki’s back stiffen. How about that, he might actually be on to something here. So he’d strolled up to the other man, leaning in to casually study the pile of trash being swept together.

 

“Hey… how’s it going?”

 

He had felt rather than seen a small jerk as Loki shied away from him, might’ve missed it altogether had it not been for the Other Guy, now lurking just beneath the surface. The Other Guy noticed such things. He had imagined he could almost smell the anxiety in the room, his and the god’s both, and it made a grin tug at the corners of his lips.

 

Oh, this was _such_ a bad situation. He hadn’t been sure whether he wanted more to laugh or run, or possibly smash.

 

“Everything is going excellent,” Loki had all but spat, taking a step away and sweeping the broom between them with an angry jerk, an instinctive “don’t cross this line” message plain as day. Your side and mine, stay away.

 

Bruce had felt a thrill of satisfaction, mixed in with the almost-dangerous thumping of his heart. Loki had played him, used him, relied on the Hulk as the lynchpin in his plan for destruction. Watching him step back had been gratifying on levels where he and the Other Guy could unite in rare harmony.

 

“Good,” he’d said. “Nice to hear. Just checking, you know.”

 

Loki had given him a look that probably aimed for unreadable but landed in suspicious and demonstratively turned his back again. Bruce had remained where he was, feeling the proverbial angel and devil battling it out on his shoulder. It had been short and entirely one-sided. The devil – and it was wearing a tiny Iron Man armor, Bruce could not _fathom_ why – practically had the poor angel in a headlock at this point. So he had waited until the former world-conqueror had fallen back into rhythm of his work, and then carefully shifted forward. Oh, he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, it’d end in tears for all involved, he just knew it. But Loki didn’t seem to notice, so he leaned close to one gaunt shoulder and breathed straight up into his ear.

 

“Boo.”

 

Loki had startled up, eyes wide, a strangled sound caught in his throat and his broom up and swinging towards Bruce’s head before he’d caught himself, flailing desperately to abort the blow at the last moment.

 

Bruce had caught the swinging wooden staff on pure reflex, feeling a laugh bubble in his chest as he had stared Loki down. The ex-god’s face had been really an interesting picture, shock and anger and confusion chasing each other over his features. Rattled. Shaken, even. His eyes had still been a bit wild, and Bruce had had to fight down both laughter and the faint stirrings of an adrenaline-laced Hulk. Damn, but Tony really _was_ a bad influence, because he was having _fun_ and agitating crazy gods had not been on his list of amusements before meeting up with that man.    

 

A foot had scraped in the doorway. He and Loki had jerked apart like two kids caught kissing behind the schoolhouse and Barton had raised an eyebrow at both of them, stealing into the room to lean against the wall once again, saying nothing.

 

Looking back on it all, he shook his head in rueful amusement. Someone was playing a dangerous game here, and the worst part was, he wasn’t a wholly unwilling player himself.

 

Next time, he’d make Loki squeak.


	18. Let’s Talk About It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait everyone! Here, let me make it up for you with a Double Feature; chapter 19 will be up in a moment!

Tony’s bed was a tasteful work of marvel, a perfect balance between firm and soft, and big enough for a party of at least four. Just the way he liked it - or at least _had_ liked it until he’d stopped being an absolute idiot and realized what he’d had right beside him all along. He liked to think he was a bit smarter now. Wiser. He must be, or Pepper would’ve informed him otherwise.

 

That said, and despite the fact that their respective schedules left them far too few nights together even at the best of times, it felt increasingly weird to wake all alone in the big bed day after day. No Pepper snuggled up against his back. He missed the way she smelled, the way he almost wanted to stay in bed just a moment longer. He slept better on those nights, with her there. Heck, he missed _anyone_ ; there should be another body next to his, or things were simply not right with the world.

 

With a groan, he rolled over on his back, feeling stripes of sunlight fall over his face from the gaps in the blinds. Banner was still insisting on the most remote guestroom, the one up on the corner with the ridiculous round bed and furry covers, Tony should’ve had it burnt years ago – thanks Loki, for very nearly being helpful there. He could see what Bruce was doing, keeping his distance, trying to keep people – _friends_ –safe. Tony mulled over the chances of getting him into a much classier bed, like, say, Tony’s own. Just for one night. Probably null and zero, with SHIELD loitering around everywhere. Maybe he could claim they were conducting _extremely_ important scientific experiments.

There was a whirring sound as the blinds began to move, pulled up by invisible springs.

 

“Good morning, sir. The time is seven o’clock and the temperature outside is 77 degrees. Miss Potts wishes you to know that the stock has risen by 0.2 percent, despite a fire in the Chicago factory. No casualties. Director Fury has requested you meet him at the patio as soon as you are… presentable.”

 

“Thank you for that one, Jarvis.” Tony sat up and dragged one hand though his hair. “Fury, eh? How long has he been waiting?”

 

“About an hour, sir. I informed him that you would probably not join him presently, but he opted to remain. I believe agents Barton and Romanov are with him.”

 

“Great, there’s a pack of spies on my patio. Is that right? Are spies pack animals? Herd, maybe. Flock?”

 

“Murder,” suggested Jarvis drily and Tony laughed.

 

“Tell Fury I’ll be down in a minute. Night been calm?”

 

“Uneventful.” Jarvis voice followed Tony into the shower as he stripped out of his briefs and stepped into the warm spray. “All systems have been running uninterrupted. No reports from the guards or from the outer perimeter. Our guest is still sleeping.” 

 

“Visual.”

 

The image of the cell blinked to life across the wall-sized mirror, and Tony squinted through the steam. “Switch to night vision.”

 

Hazy darkness was replaced with pale green, a bird’s eye view of the cramped room and its single occupant. Loki was tangled up in the sheets of his bed, body fretfully jerking around. From this angle Tony couldn’t see his face, but the hand fisted in the sheets and the tense lines of his back spoke clearly enough. As Tony watched, Loki tossed his head to the side, smashing into the pillow even as his legs kicked aimlessly for a brief second.

 

“’My sleep is untroubled’ my ass” Tony muttered. “He been like this all night?”

 

“It has… come and gone, sir.”

 

“Tell me when he wakes up, will you?”

 

Fifteen minutes later, in jeans and t-shirt – Loki sleeping in at least meant no need for the suit right now – he walked out into the garden, coffee cup comfortably in one hand, sun glasses perched on his nose.

 

“Director.”

 

Fury lazily swiveled his one eye to study him as Tony nodded greetings to Natasha and Clint, both of them alert and fully equipped despite the early hour, the contents of Barton’s quiver spread over the table between them.

 

“Mr. Stark. So good of you to join us.” The leader of SHIELD had kept to his usual black even in the rising heat, leaning back in Tony’s expensive lawn furniture like it was a throne.

 

Tony sank down next to him in one of the sleek metal chairs and saluted him with the coffee cup. “Thanks for inviting me to my own pool deck. Why the early bird?”

 

“Funny you should put it that way. I’m off to see about some worms, you see.”

 

“Oh?” Tony raised one eyebrow. “You’re leaving us?”

 

“Yes. There are other matters which demand my attention, and you seem to have the situation here under… control.” He pointedly glanced at the still-dirty water filling the swimming pool. 

 

“Glad to have your vote of confidence.” Tony leaned forwards, smile gone from his face. “I’d hate to think you were leaving me here to clean up this mess on my own.”

 

“Of course not.” Fury’s gaze was steady. “But I’m a busy man. Places to be, people to find. We’ll just see how the situation develops. Agents Romanov and Barton have received instructions. As long as Loki remains confined and cooperative, there should be little reason for me to attend to the situation personally. I’m leaving the Helicarrier and the perimeter in place, of course.”

 

Tony snorted. “Of course.”  That wasn’t wholly unexpected. The Helicarrier would probably have to switch on its reflexive shields soon, or leave all together if this whole… _thing_ should have any chance of staying secret. Too much of an exclamation mark. He’d not expected Fury to leave, though. Not so soon. “Tell me about your worms.”

 

“Slippery little things. Hard to dig out. If I’m lucky, there may be more to tell when I get back. I’m sure you’ll find it most interesting.”

 

Ah, so that’s how he wanted to play it. Lovely.

 

“I’m sure. You know, I’d appreciate to know about all this interesting stuff _before_ it kicks me in the ass.”  There was a bite to his voice, and Natasha looked up from her polishing to give him a steady look.

 

Fury looked him straight in the eye. “If any intel comes in that could in any way relate to our situation here, you’ll be the first to know. As much as I’d like to personally oversee our little lost lamb, I _am_ needed elsewhere, and I trust the Avengers to get the job done here. I’m taking a gamble on you, Stark. Don’t let me down.” 

 

Tony nodded slowly, turning to the table where Clint and Natasha had abandoned their work in favor of blatant eavesdropping. “So it’s all down to us, then? Think we can handle it?”

 

“If we can’t, who will?” Clint replied. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

 

“So just what _are_ your instructions? Or is that classified, too?”

 

Natasha favored him with a small smile. “It’s no secret, Stark. We’ll do what we are best at. Convince him to cooperate.”

 

“And deal with him if he doesn’t.” Clint added, serenely.

 

This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? Things done his way, and Fury was kind enough to back off and let him. Enough rope to hang them all if they fucked this thing up, too.

 

He wouldn’t lie to himself. This _was_ just what he wanted. _Sweet._

 

*****

 

Loki awoke with a start and a gasp, the sound of his captors’ jeers still ringing in his ears. It took him a disoriented moment to recognize it as nothing else than his own ragged breaths. Shivering, he reflexively curled up on the bed, almost feeling the ghost of frigid, stale air over his skin before he wretched back control from his treacherous body. He was in Iron Man’s house, and the phantoms of his dreams were nothing more than smoke on the wind. The air was not cold, the bed underneath him soft, his skin unblemished. It was only memories.

 

Sitting up, he blinked wearily at the harsh light that suddenly flooded the room.

 

“Overcompensating for your earlier failings, machine.”

 

“It is indeed a great relief to have the generators back online, sir.”

 

The clothing from yesterday was hanging off the footboard, still smudged with ash and dirt from the previous day of labor; hours of dragging twisted metal from the remains of Stark’s car collection. The look of unveiled pain on the man’s face had been incredibly satisfying, sweet nectar, but the idea of slipping back into the soiled tunic was not appetizing in the least.

 

He did so anyway, keeping his distaste off his face. The machine was always watching; no need in displaying weakness openly, no matter how slight. His captors had more than enough weapons to use against him even without him handing them yet another. He only need wear it until he reached the wash room and the new suit of clothes that would await him there.

 

He paused in the act of lacing his pants. No, that was wrong. Dangerous. To expect there would be clean clothing forthcoming, just because it had been thus every day without fail. Had he really grown so complacent with his captors’ mercies? Careless, witless, he should know better. They could take it all away at any moment. He should expect nothing less.

 

Sooner or later, they too would realize this game was futile.

 

Sighing, he slipped his feet into the black slippers.

 

“The door, voice, if you would not _mind_.”    

 

“Of course, sir.” The locks sighed faintly as they slid open, the door opening of its own accord. Outside, he knew, would await Fury’s dogs, some steel-eyed warriors, some whelps all but shaking in fright. All beneath his notice. The day would not truly start until one of the Avengers came to escort him away.

 

Compared to the harsh light in the cell, the light outside was muted. He stepped out, faltering momentarily in his tracks when he realized that the routine was broken. The black-clad soldiers usually waiting outside the door were nowhere to be seen. In their stead, leaning against Stark’s disarrayed work table, was a sight far less welcome.

 

“Good morning,” smiled Clint Barton, body relaxed, eyes alight with gleeful anticipation as a single arrow twirled between his fingers. “Hope you slept well.” Beside him, the Black Widow was silent, face unreadable as she crooked her head to the side.

 

“Have a good day, sir,” the loathsome machine purred as the door clanged shut behind him.   

 

*****

 

“Are you comfortable?” asked Natasha, settling into her chair. “I probably don’t need to say that this also plays part in your pursuit of redemption, and that sharing any information that might help this planet will benefit you as well.”

 

From across the table, Loki regarded her impassively. “That may well be so, agent Romanov. However, there are some matters I do not wish to discuss.”

 

“That’s fine,” said Clint, leaning back in the chair next to hers. “I hope we hit those questions quickly, I want to get started.”

 

Natasha ignored him, opting instead to push a paper cup of tea across the table. They were in Stark’s meeting room, the same one Fury had used a week before, and the tea had been carefully left to cool as to not pose any undue risk. Loki made no move to pick it up.

 

“This will only be as difficult as you yourself choose to make it,” she said, keeping her voice neural and businesslike. “We have no wish to make things… unpleasant.”

 

She saw Loki’s gaze flicker to Clint as the former god allowed a quick look of disbelieving contempt to flash by. Just for a moment, before he settled into an open, wide-eyed look, body relaxing into the office chair. “I’m glad, agent. Surely we are all... civilized beings here.”

 

She felt rather than saw Clint tense up beside her, reflexive knowledge gained from years at his side in the field. Loki saw it too, she knew, for all that his earnest face gave nothing away.

 

“Wonderful. So let us all do the mature thing here and start talking.” She flicked open the file in front of her, sheet after sheet of Hill’s short clipped notes. Command structure, numbers, weapon specs; SHIELD wanted it all. “Tell us about the Chitauri.”

 

“My army. I believe you have met them. And bested them, too. What more is there to know?”

 

Barton opened his mouth but Loki overcame him, continuing to speak through Clint’s angry hiss. “They are not the true enemy. Merely a tool, a weapon, creatures that carry out the grand schemes of those far above them. Unimportant.”

 

“Oh?” She said, tone questioning, encouraging him to keep talking.

He obliged her, long fingers gently-unthinkingly?- curling around the armrests. “They serve a being whose power goes beyond anything your pathetic realm has ever encountered. Pray that you mere mortals never meet him.”

 

“Is that so.” She didn’t let her suspicion tint her voice; Loki might be serving a lie on a silver platter, or he might not. The fact that he talked at all was still a better start than she had hoped for. Still, she could not wholly suppress a small jolt of worry at the thought of a being that had even Loki wary.

 

Clint seemed to be thinking the same thing. “Are you saying this guy was calling the shots? And here I thought conquering Earth was _your_ great plan. Trying to pass the blame?”

 

Not even a frown; Loki kept the mask in place without so much as a tremor, his every word even and weighted behind the benign smile.

 

“That plan was my own, and no one shall claim that glory from me. _I_ led them here.”

 

“Give us his name.”

 

“No.”

 

“No? Why not? Still scared of him?”

 

Loki snorted, a soft sound as calculated as his words. “I fear nothing. His name is not important. With the Tesseract gone from here, he has no interest in your worthless realm.”

 

Natasha tilted her head to the side. “Does that mean he’ll go for Asgard instead?”

 

The pale eyes narrowed; her guess had struck home. Then the tall man shrugged languidly, momentary lapse banished. “Asgard is the mightiest of all the realms. With the Tesseract in Odin’s treasure chamber, only a fool would seek war. No. Asgard is quite safe, woman. Do not worry yourself unduly. Have you not enough troubles with your own kind?”

 

Far more than enough, but that was unimportant, here and now. “You said this being controls the Chitauri – are there more of them?”

 

“More than would be enough to smother your world under a wave of terror.”

 

“Funny,” said Clint, “I seem to recall you saying that the last time over as well.”

 

“Oh, yes,” smiled Loki, his grin suddenly razor sharp. “After you suggested I’d carve that man’s eyeball out, and before you acquired that quinjet for us. All those agents. I remember.”

 

Barton’s lips just quirked, a hard little smile that promised death. Natasha took her cue, leveling a mirthless look at their prisoner.

 

“Do that again, and you’ll be back in the cell for the rest of the day. We don’t need you to waste our time. Cooperate, or you’ll spend the day staring at a wall. Not very redeeming, I suspect.”

 

Loki gave her an artfully guileless look, spreading his hands before him in an innocent gesture. “Please. I only wish to help.”

 

“That’s very kind of you. So prove it.”

 

“It is for you to ask the questions, is it not? And for me to reply.”

 

“Odin’s treasure chamber. Tell me about it.”

 

Her opponent tensed slightly, not wholly able to suppress a sour glare. “Utterly beyond the scope of the likes of you.”

 

She raised an eyebrow.

 

Loki leaned forward, smile back in place. “It’s a chamber, deep in the bedrock beneath Asgard itself, housing the legendary heirlooms of the house of Odin – plunder and flotsam from a hundred worlds, everything Asgard has robbed from the Nine Realms for millennia. I could tell you the way in, should you wish.”

 

“And the way out?”

 

His teeth flashed in bitter amusement. “Now, that’s a wholly different matter.”

 

“I figured as much. What would I find in there?”

 

“Why, the Tesseract, I should suppose. Mjölnir, if Thor ever left it out of sight.”

 

“Nothing we didn’t already know,” Clint pointed out. “Give us something better.”

 

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me, how will it help my _redemption_ to speak of the treasures of Asgard? Surely there is little benefit for Midgard to be found there.”

 

“We only wish to know our ally better,” she returned smoothly.

 

“Then talk to my _brother_. I am sure he will gladly extoll the virtues of Asgard at length to anyone who would listen.”

 

“And you will not.”

 

“You wish me to speak of treasures beyond human imagination? They number in the thousands. The Eternal Flame of Sutur, the Twilight Sword, the Ark of the Covenant. Tony Stark’s humility, your _innocence_ -“ Suddenly, the tip of Clint’s arrow was a hair’s breath from Loki’s face, held steady in the archer’s hand. Loki fell silent, smile still in place. Slowly, Clint leaned forward and pressed the sharp point under Loki’s eye, stopping just shy of drawing blood.

 

Beside him, Natasha sighed inwardly. “This is clearly going nowhere. I hope you’ll be more helpful tomorrow, Loki.”

 

The Asgardian turned his eyes to her, smile suddenly dropping off his face and leaving only grim blankness in its stead. The skin around the arrowhead was white from pressure.

 

“Helpful? Tell me how Odin would find me redeemed from offering up his most well-kept secrets to _you_ , mortal _worm_.”

 

*****

 

“Well, that could have gone better.”

 

“Could’ve gone a whole lot worse, too.” Clint took another mouthful of coffee, one eye on the screen where Loki slowly paced his cell. “Asgard is clearly a touchy subject.”

 

“And he wasn’t fooled for a minute”, Natasha murmured, cradling her cup. “Not that I expected anything else.”

 

“Would’ve been nice, I suppose, if things were that easy. At least he’s talking.”

 

“He’s going to be tough, Clint.”

 

The archer nodded.  “Anything we could try to rattle him is more likely to trigger than scare him, I think. A damn waste, I would’ve loved to work him over.”

 

“I know. Still, it wasn’t a wasted first session. For all of his apathy, he _wants_ it. I would even say he’s desperate.”

 

“He must be, if he’s willing to sweep our floors for us.” Clint drained the last of his cup. “Still, can’t say I envy Stark and Rogers, having to babysit him tomorrow once he’s had time to stew.”

 

She chuckled at that, tasting the last bitter dregs of coffee on her tongue. “No rest for the wicked.”


	19. Critical Juncture

“Hey Cap, come help me out over here?” 

 

It wasn’t that the beam was too heavy by any means, not with the suit, but its precarious balance made it impossible to cut the twisted chunk of metal away from the wall without sending it crashing into one of the few surviving load-bearing pillars. He’d rather not bring the remains of the garage down upon them.

 

“Sure. “ Steve was there in an instant, stabilizing the beam with one strong arm while the laser cut through the metal like soft butter. Once it was severed, he heaved it onto his shoulder without even a pause. Tony snorted. Super solider. Not even thinking about it.

 

But superhuman or not, even Steve wiped sweat off his forehead as he came back into the burnt-out remains of Tony’s garage. Tony himself was without his helmet, not that it made much of a difference. The light shining down through the roof – or rather, the big gaping opening that had once _been_ a roof- told him lunch break was just around the corner. Before long, the blowtorch they called sun here in Dubai would burn away even the narrow strips of shade still clinging to the walls.

 

Loki was currently in one of those strips, mechanically dragging his broom over the dirty concrete. Spaced out, Tony noted, vaguely gazing at the floor, mind off to wherever gods went to brood.

 

He busied himself with cutting down more of the damaged, listing wall, piling the scrap on the ground for Cap to ferry off. It was demanding, repetitive work and he might have zoned out a bit himself, wrestling with the stubborn steel.

 

Not enough to slip up at the job, though, and Loki was ever in the corner of his eye. Which was why he was treated to a front-row seat as between one sweep and another, ominous silence spread where a swish of the broom should have been. Loki had stilled, staring out into nothing with the broom held loosely in his hands.

 

An alarm went off in Tony’s hindbrain the moment before the god’s hands tightened on the handle and he jerked it up to snap the wooden staff over his knee, the crack echoing though the cavernous room even as the sad remains of the broom clattered to the floor.

 

Tony felt himself freeze for a moment, staring at the tense, narrow back, heaving with violent breaths. Loki’s hands had balled into fists, wiry muscles taut enough for the arms to shake with pent-up energy.

 

“Hey!” Steve’s voice rang though the air as he briskly walked over, face set in a frown that echoed the gravity Tony felt settling into his own gut.

 

There was no way whatsoever this was going to be good news.

 

He swooped in to land beside Cap as Loki turned around, and felt a sliver of ice cut through the adrenaline that was running haywire through his system. Loki’s eyes were burning, blowtorches of rage and madness blazing so strong Tony half expected to feel the heat on his skin. But it was the rest of the face that really drove the icy spike of doom home; expressionless, not a muscle twitching beneath the blank surface. Like a mask. Tony would have preferred the smile. At least the murderous grin was familiar. He could work with the murderous grin.

 

“I,” said Loki, slowly, steadily, “am done with this.”

 

“Done? Now, I don’t-“

 

“That is right. You don’t.” Loki cut Steve off with the same level, too-steady voice as before. “You will not order me around ever again. I am through with this despicable charade, you lumbering oaf. Find someone else to do your labor for you.”

 

“What, so you’re giving up, just like that?”

 

“Giving up?” Loki’s voice grew sharper, and Tony winced inwardly. “My patience has run dry; I’ve had enough of playing the fool for your amusement.”

 

Steve opened his mouth but hesitated, eyes sliding over to Tony in silent question. Tony could practically hear it. _Stark, you’re the resident expert on crazy. What the fucking hell now?_ Ok, so maybe the paragon of American morals and apple pie wouldn’t phrase it quite like that, but the sentiment was definitely there. 

 

“So, you’re sick and tired of cleaning. I get it.” Tony’s eyes flickered by the splintered pieces of wood by Loki’s feet. Keep him talking, as long as he was talking the situation could still be neutralized. If Loki decided to go feral on them again, things could get messy. He’d rather not have to start over from scratch on this little hobby-project, and he was positively certain Fury wouldn’t want to call Asgard to apologize for them now being short one psycho prince.

 

“Do you? Do you _get_ it? Then explain it to _me!_ Because all I see are the band of _avengers_ having a laugh at my expense while _nothing_ brings me any closer to regaining what is rightfully mine!”

 

“We’re not laughing,” Steve replied, probably pure gut response kicking in, and Loki’s face finally moved, twisting into an ugly sneer.

 

“Lie to yourself all you want, _hero_ , but don’t expect me to coddle your illusions. The lot of you snicker and gloat, always watching, making sure the next task is more humiliating than the one before.” Steve opened his mouth as if to interrupt and Tony grabbed his shoulder, squeezing hard in warning as his teammate threw him surprised glance.

 

 “You know it is all futile and yet you _shine_ with your good intentions, ever ready to threaten me with a lifetime in that cell with no company but Stark’s horrible voice should I hesitate even for a second in bending to your whim! How fortunate you are, that a simple potion gave you the brute strength to force your will upon whomever you choose. In the end, you are only a conceited, self-righteous _sham_ , no better than the bullies you claim to stand up against!”

 

Loki’s final outburst echoed between the warped metal walls. The god pressed his lips together, fists clenching and eyes spitting hellfire. Steve had grown pale, the tips of his ears a flaming red. Tony exhaled slowly. Keeping Loki talking, not a problem, check. 

 

“Well. That certainly cleared the air.”

 

The look Loki shot Tony ought to have stripped the paint clear off his suit. Even Steve managed a decisively displeased glare and he held up his hands, placating and attention-grabbing all at once. “No, hear me out. Glad to hear you speaking your mind, Loki, we’re all in this together and so forth and so on. Now, I won’t say I agree with the fine print of what you just said but I admit it, I _may_ have thought you sweeping floors rather amusing.”

 

He caught a glimpse of red hair over Loki’s shoulder; Natasha, lurking just inside the listing hangar doors. If she was there, no doubt the rest of the island was on high alert. Loki’s rant had not gone undetected. He pressed on. “And yeah, I’d be pissed off too, so while I still say you deserve every moment of it, I could be persuaded to agree that it hasn’t really brought out your better sides – you do have some of those, right? Sorry Cap, but it hasn’t.”

 

Loki snarled at him and there was desperation flickering behind the anger, in the lines of the face and the set of the eyes. A moderately desperate Loki was good. A desperate Loki that had thrown in the towel was potentially very, very bad.

 

“Okay, so how about this; no more cleaning up my crib, and you get a veto on whatever new idea we come up with. Something more… efficient. So would you consider _not_ going on a murderous killing spree, maybe?”

 

Silence slammed down, hot and heavy as the sledgehammer sun. Loki seemed to fight something of an inner battle, emotions flitting over his face too fast for Tony to read them. He didn’t need to. As long as Loki was hesitating, he was still on the fence, and Tony could work with that.

 

Then, Loki snorted and turned away, as if suddenly disinterested. “Very well. I accept your offer, on one condition. Wearing your name on my body offends me. I will do so no longer.”

 

Tony crooked his head to his side. Not an unreasonable request, as far as they went; he’d half expected someone’s head on a spike. “Sure. I’ll swaddle you in D&G from head to toe, if that’s what you want.” 

 

Loki seemed to consider this for a moment, then graced them with a magnanimous nod. “That would be adequate.”

 

Did the guy even know what D&G was? Never mind. Steve was still radiating indignation, and Loki was standing there surrounded by the sad remains of the broom. “We’ll get out of this sun and-“

 

“I am not going back to the cell.” Loki interrupted, in a voice that brooked no disagreement.

 

Tony faltered, then rolled with it, shrugging his shoulders under the suit. “The living room, then. Need to get the others up to speed as well.” 

 

Another stiff nod, and then Loki turned to stalk out unto the sundrenched airfield. The silence lasted all through the decidedly tense walk back to the house, where Loki ignored the shuffling of feet as guards and agents hurried out of his path. Natasha fell in with her team mates as they followed in his wake, alert but not overly worried.

 

“Clint is being briefed by Director Fury,” she mumbled behind Loki’s back. “He wants to talk to you, Stark. Now.”

 

“ _Now_? Is he aware of the situation here?”

 

She shook her hair. “I’ve informed Clint that there has been a… tantrum. Want us to call it off?”

 

He turned the question over in his head, watching Loki’s straight shoulders. “No. Just follow him to the living room and try not to let things blow up, will you? And if they do, keep him alive.”

 

She nodded, falling in beside Steve as Tony veered off down a sunlit path twisting though lush greenery.

 

The conference room was a sharp contrast to the outside, cool gloom and white walls, dominated by the projection covering most of the wall. Tony recognized the interior of a quinjet over Fury’s shoulder as the larger-than-life image of the Director fixed him with his one piercing eye.

 

“Stark.”     

 

“Director.” Tony acknowledged, walking past the seated Barton to sprawl in a chair sturdy enough to carry the weight of the suit. “Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Is it bad?”

 

“It might yet be. I’ve been busy since leaving you. Barton tells me you’re having trouble with Loki.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes, putting on his best unimpressed face. “Not in so many words. He got a bit vocal. I get it far worse at home every time I miss a board meeting. By now, our resident god is probably perched on my sofa, sipping on a martini.”

 

Barton raised an eyebrow at him, and he snorted. “Seriously. Ask Romanov if you don’t trust me.”

 

“I don’t have to,” Clint replied, pressing two fingers against his ear piece. “No martinis, Stark. Nat says he’s royally pissed off.”

 

“It was probably inevitable and you know it. We’ve pushed him around for days, he’s hardly the stable type to start with. I’m frankly surprised he lasted as long as he did.”

 

“Should I reconsider my faith in you?” Fury asked, and Tony made a dismayed face.

 

“I’m _me_ , of course you shouldn’t. We have it under control. Sweeping floors was a stupid idea from the start, it was more of a warm-up. But you didn’t call to talk about that, did you?”

 

Fury’s look made it clear he was far from done with the subject, but he shook his head, once. “No. Loki’s still your responsibility, for now. This concerns the Ten Rings, and you.”

 

Tony sat up straighter, all flippancy blown away. “The Ten Rings.”

 

“Yes. I’m currently en route from meeting up with our people in Afghanistan. They’ve just finished digging their way through that cave, and I don’t like what they found one bit.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

Fury’s head shrunk back, flowing up to the corner of the screen as a satellite image of mottled greys and browns flashed onto the screen. “Recognize this?”

 

Tony frowned. It was a mountain range, _the_ mountain range, but where the cave opening had been there was nothing but a gaping crater. The camera zoomed in and the scale of the destruction became apparent, the entire mountainside had collapsed in on itself, tons upon tons of rubble filling up the canyon below. He felt his guts twist. “What the hell happened there?”

 

“Funny thing, I thought _you_ knew. This happened approximately ten minutes after your plane departed the area. I first assumed it was your doing.”

 

 “Mine? Fury, I brought nothing of that sort of firepower with me. I just grabbed Loki and hit the road. Barely dented the place.”

 

“Good to hear. I was starting to worry just how you’d managed to upgrade your suit to flatten a landscape the size of Manhattan. But no, we realized our mistake by the time we debriefed you. Then we found the explosives.”

 

“You tell me this _now_? They had weapon depots? My weapons?” Tony’s fingers twitched, itching for something, _anything_ to keep them busy. He forced them to lie still in his lap, staring at the image of the demolished mountainside.

 

“Not weapons. Explosives. Rigged bombs throughout the entire cave. Enough to bring the whole goddamn mountain down on whatever sucker unlucky enough to be inside when they went off.”

 

Fury’s face gazed down at him from the screen, chin set, eyes steady. Beside him, Clint was unnervingly still, eyes fixed on the projection. “That sucker was supposed to be you, Stark. It was a trap, the whole thing, a trap set for you. The Ten Rings were going to bury Iron Man underneath a thousand tons of stone.”

 

Tony opened his mouth, blinked, closed it again. “ _What_?”

 

“SHIELD has access to some very _specialized_ agents. Agents for whom not even a collapsed cave is any real hindrance. After they returned with the remains of the rigged fireworks, I went… talking to the prisoners we picked up after you had smoked them out. Lackeys and muscle, for the most part, but once we knew what to ask for, they decided to sing.”

 

Fury smiled, a humorless twist of the lips. “Seems the Then Rings are nursing something of a grudge against you, Mr. Stark. Someone, somewhere, decided to be rid of you. They knew if they picked the right spot, found the same kind of cave and started advertising, you were bound to come calling.“

 

“The hostage video.” Tony felt bile rise in his throat, shaking with nauseous rage. “It’s practically identical. And the upload, traceable all the way back to Afghanistan…”

 

“They were expecting you to chomp down on the bait and rush into it headfirst, without backup, without a plan. Can’t imagine why. Might I suggest a bit more self-restraint next time?”

 

“Fuck you, Fury, there won’t _be_ a next time, I’m going to wipe those assholes off the face of the earth,” Tony grit out, eyes flashing. “How does Loki fit into all of this?”

 

“I haven’t been able to reach a conclusion on that one. He might just have stumbled into the situation, or they already held him by the time they hatched their scheme. Might’ve been the mastermind, for all I know. I’ll leave that for you to dig into.”

 

Barton grunted, shifting in his chair. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

 

Tony nodded in agreement, mind revving on all cylinders. “So what went wrong? Because I’m sitting here, not squashed flat underneath an afghan mountain range. Did their fuse fizz out?”

 

“We’re looking into that as of now.”

 

“Meaning you’ve no idea.”

 

Fury frowned. “No, I don’t, and I’m not happy about it. You might’ve been too fast, or they were waiting for you to head deeper into the cave-“

 

“-but I followed Loki out instead. Maybe his escape messed their mojo right up. Doesn’t explain the explosion ten minutes later, though.”

 

“Damage control,” Clint said, flatly. “They’d failed, so they decided to cover their tracks and get rid of all evidence.”

 

“Well, they failed at that too.” Fury’s eyes flickered down, and the mountain range was replaced with a flashing stream of text, pictures and moving images scrolling across the screen. “We’re on their tracks, but it’s slow going.”

 

“Send me what you’ve got and I’ll be right on it,” Tony said. “Jarvis, ready for download. Name the file ‘ _Unfinished business_.’”

 

“Yes, master Stark.”

 

“There is more,” Fury said.

 

Tony took a deep breath. “ _More_? And this is before we even start on why I only hear of this _now_? Why the _hell_ didn’t you tell me sooner?”

 

Fury gave him a steady look and Tony matched it, glaring back at the Director while Barton sat silent at his side.

 

“I said I would inform you as soon as I learnt anything of value,” Fury replied. “And that is now. I have just returned from overseeing the interrogations myself.” He held up his hands into the camera’s view and Tony saw the scraped skin over his knuckles. He snorted.

 

“Yeah, sure. We’re not through with that, _Nick_. So there’s more. Out with it.”

 

“We just received word from one of our leads that the plan to kill you isn’t off the table just yet.”

 

Barton sat up straighter next to him, and Tony rolled his eyes. “ _Great_.”

 

“It’s worse than you think. Miss Potts have informed you of the fire in the Chicago factory.” It was not a question.

 

Tony’s eyes narrowed, the churning anger seething in his chest kicking up a notch. “There’s a  connection.”

 

“We don’t have the details, just a few whispers. You’ve gone off the radar since setting up in Dubai. Attacking you directly is impossible.” Fury gave him a meaningful glance. “So maybe someone is going for the next best thing.”

 

Tony jerked up from the table, pacing a frustrated track over the floor. “Are you saying they’re attacking my company?”

 

“I’m saying there is a possibility, yes.”

 

“That’s disgustingly vague, Fury.”

 

“It’s all I got. I suggest you look through those files your system just received. Any input would be greatly appreciated.”   

 

Tony stared off into the distance, jaw clenched. “I’ll get back to you. If you excuse me, I need to call my CEO.”

 

*****

 

“I built the security system myself, I _know_ it’s the best there is. Just… be safe, will you?”

 

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?” Not a hint of worry in Pepper’s voice save that is was so gentle, her perfect _calm the Stark down_ tone. “I’ll be safe, Tony, there are probably few persons in New York safer than I am. I’ll call Rhodey and the head of security and follow every protocol, I promise.”

 

Tony strode through a winding corridor with Clint at his side, armored boots clanging against the marble floor. “Yeah, good, tell them I’ll be in touch later. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

 

“You have work to do,” she chided him, mildly, and he cursed himself inside, for not deserving this perfect woman. “And don’t you dare slack off on duty. Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

 

He forced a smile into his voice. “That will be all, Ms. Potts.”

  

He snapped the phone shut as they entered the living room, groaning inwardly at the scene meeting them.

 

Despite Romanov’s attempts at diplomatic damage control, Steve and Loki was facing off in the middle of the room, seeming exactly one more insult from letting their fists do the talking. Natasha was watching them both intently, Bruce pale and drawn by her side. The tension was all but thrumming through the air, was in the set of Loki’s shoulders and the lines around Steve’s eyes, and Tony didn’t have time for any of it. 

 

“Knock it off, people. Haven’t you gotten that out your systems yet?” All eyes turned to them, icy rage to well-veiled curiosity, and he ignored all of it as he walked up to the little tableau by the sofa. “There’s been a development. Fury just called with some unexpected news. So stop _bickering_.”

 

Loki opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again, as if something in Tony’s face had given him pause. Tony gave him a humorless smile that was stripped off his face as soon as it had appeared. “Yeah, it’s _that_ bad. Clint can give you all the rundown, but right now, I want to talk to Loki. Alone.”

 

He needed to know. Needed to at least ask the question. 

 

Natasha threw Clint a questioning look and then frowned slightly as he gave her a minute shake of the head. Steve looked from Tony to Clint and then back again before nodding slightly and stepping back, gesturing to the patio doors.

 

Tony nodded in thanks, walking towards the doors without even looking around to see if Loki would follow. He didn’t have to. As he stepped out into the hot moist air beyond the AC’s reach, he heard the soft shuffle of slippers over tile.

 

Loki fixed him with an unreadable gaze as Tony pulled the door shut behind them. The garden lay silent around them, testament to the camouflage skills of the dozen or so SHIELD agents no doubt inhabiting the scene. It would have to do, this was as alone as they’d ever be. Beyond the glass, the others were already clustered together around Clint and Tony put them out of his mind for now, turning to study Loki’s face with intense scrutiny. 

 

“Let me start by saying that if you’re the one behind all this, I’m deeply impressed. Extremely furious, won’t leave enough of your charred body in one piece to warrant a funeral, but impressed.”

 

Loki’s face was still blank, brow creased in a slight frown. Clueless and not too happy about it. “Flatter me or threaten me. Make up your mind.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “No need for cackling triumphant laughter coming on? No grand revelation of your nefarious plan?”

 

“Speak sense, Stark,” Loki hissed curtly, voice tense.

 

Tony stared right back, looking for any twitch, any little unconscious reaction. “Sure. Fury just called and told me that the entire gig in that cave was just a trap to blow me to small bloody chunks, and you were the bait to draw me in. Wanna comment on that?”

 

It was the little things, Tony thought. How Loki’s pupils became tiny pinpricks of darkness, how his entire body tensed up, becoming something alert and predatory without really moving at all. Tony was pierced with a look that reminded him very briefly that he was standing, in fact, face to face with a god. Involuntary reactions. Tony would’ve had a few of them himself had he not already been riding on a wave of adrenaline. When Loki spoke, there was ice in his voice.

 

“ _Explain._ ”

 

“I just did. The cave was a ruse. They had it packed full of explosives, and I was to be inside when it all went sky high. Because I’d come looking for _you_.”

 

He saw realization unfold in the narrowed eyes, followed closely by bitter humorless amusement. Something had hit home, but he saw no triumph on Loki's face, only spiteful understanding.

 

"You assume the plan was mine."

 

It wasn't even a question.

 

“You have reason enough.”

 

Loki’s lips quirked, caught between a snarl and a grin. “Ample reasons. But tell me... In the _recordings_ you so devotedly studied, was it a master schemer you saw on the rack?”

 

Tony cursed inwardly, not backing down from the vicious smile, but not wanting to deal with _that_ and everything it dredged up. “You've had us fooled before, you'll just have to forgive me for being somewhat distrustful.”

 

“Distrustful," Loki repeated with a sneer. "Then trust me on _this_ , Tony Stark. When I come for your life I would not sneak and plot and scheme with vermin under the ground. I would _kill_ you, Stark, with my own hands, smiling as I squeeze the light out of your eyes."

 

Tony exploded. “Fuck it, Loki! I don't have time for this; they’re out there right now, going after _my_ company, _my_ people! I should have settled this score long ago.”

 

“That would be preferable to blaming me for your shortcomings,” Loki shot back.

 

It took conscious effort not to rise to the blatant provocation; his adrenaline-churning guts assured him Loki's face would look _awesome_ with an armored gauntlet buried to the knuckles in it right about now. But somewhere behind the madness was a flare of justified resentment, and, if you squinted, a point of sorts. Nice deep breaths here.

 

"Okay," he said, forcing his voice calm, and Loki's grin slipped a notch, betraying a moment of uncertainty. Tony ran a hand through his hair, taking a few short, sharp steps over the sunbaked tiles. "Okay, let's say for the sake of argument you're not in fact running some sort of evil mastermind scheme here. Fine."

 

It wasn't as though they'd ever _know_ , though, they'd already learned Loki deserved an honorary Oscar or five when it came to putting on a show. He could be lying through his teeth even now, and they'd never know. And if he wasn't...

 

The arc reactor was a chafing weight in his chest. Just talking about the cave made best forgotten memories of sand and sweat and blood and failure rise like fetid bubbles to the surface, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Edgy energy still crackled though his system; he wanted to work, get started, lock himself in his workshop and hunt those bastards to ground for _daring_ to be back in his life again.

 

Loki was staring intently at him, taut as a bowstring, long arms crossed over his chest. If he _wasn't_ lying, he probably felt about as peachy as Tony did right now. _To hell with it_ , he thought and made up his mind.

 

"Either way, I won’t have the time to hold your hand while you quest around for daddy’s stamp of approval anymore. Good thing you wanted a vacation, because your family issues are just going to have to wait. Unless of course..."

 

No reply, just the same burning glare, and now he was gambling, betting on just who Loki hated the most right now.

 

“It must _sting_ , to know that they're still out there after what they did to you. You’re right, I’ve seen the videos. They wanted me to see you and see myself, get pissed off and careless. It worked. I _know_.”

 

“You know _nothing_.” Loki snarled. “Do you presume to think I would be grateful to know that _you_ are hunting my enemies down, while I am locked away in a small cage like some base beast? I will have _my_ revenge by my own hand, and I will _destroy_ you and anyone else foolish enough to stand in my way!”

 

“What if you don’t have to?”

 

Loki blinked, tilting his head to scrutinize Tony though narrow eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

 

There was work to do. Lots of work. If SHIELD had failed, the trail would be cold indeed. It would be difficult and likely dangerous, and the sane thing to do would be to stuff Loki back in his cell and throw away the key until this new crisis was dealt with. It would be the logical course of action, deal with one threat at a time. But he was Tony fucking Stark, and sanity was entirely optional.

 

“Change of tactics. I could use a fresh set of eyes, you need to work on your decent-being skills. Could be mutually beneficial. Even Odin _must_ agree that the world is a better place without the Rings, or he’s no god of mine.”

 

“He is no god of yours.”

 

“Figure of speech. The offer still stands. Feel like siding with the Avengers on this one?”

 

The silence seemed to crackle with tension and suspicion as Loki studied his face intently for a long minute.

 

“I will kill them by my own hand.”

 

Tony took a deep breath. “If I say yes, will you agree?”

 

“It was not a request, Stark. It was merely a statement of fact.”

 

A sharp smile crept over Tony’s face, impossible to stop, and Loki’s lips began to quirk too, mirrored grins of shared deadly intent.

 

“Very well, then. For revenge.”

 

“For revenge,” Loki echoed, teeth still bared in that horrible smile. “I shall allow you to assist me, mortal, in this task.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....and the plot thickens! :-D 
> 
> As always, a big THANK YOU to Silvy for all her tireless beta work! You're the best!


	20. Of Sharks and Blood in the Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! And neither is this fic! :-D

Loki was pacing, jerky angry strides from one end of the room to the other. Tony watched from his chair as the other man reached the stairs and instantly spun on his heel, hardly breaking his stride as he stiffly marched on.

 

Leaning back with a sigh, Tony glanced sideways at the glowing blocks of numbers scrolling by. Still nothing. There’d better be _something_ soon or he’d be up there with Loki, wearing grooves into the floor.

 

The once empty workspaces had been swallowed up by a growing avalanche of maps and folders. An array of glowing screens endlessly churned though news reports and satellite images. Empty cups and plates littered the mess like relics of a lost age, but so far, there was not a single damn thing to show for it.

 

Zero. Zilch. Nada.

 

The last weeks was a caffeine-tinted round-the-clock haze of reading, phone calls, scanning data and running models, punctuated only by the occasional brilliant four in the morning complete rewriting of half of Jarvis’ algorithms born out of sheer sleep-deprived frustration. Banner had wisely packed his research away and fled the scene, and Tony had spent more nights sleeping on the singed sofa he’d scrounged up than in his own bed.    

 

At the other end of the room, Loki had reached the vault door and turned again, eyes meeting Tony’s across the distance. His guest raised an eyebrow and Tony gave a minute shake of his head.

 

Loki snorted, a rude sound that made Tony bark out a hoarse laugh. Ignoring the glare that earned him he reached for the nearest coffee cup- cold, of course. He took a swig anyways, grimacing.

 

“Nope, nothing. Believe me, you’d have been made aware.”

 

“Foolish of me to hope.” Loki stalked over to lean over his desk, taking in the flickering numbers with sunken eyes. “The payments sent to Moscow?”

 

“Came from an account in Norway that belongs to an eighty-two year old cookie-baking grandmother who also keeled over three years ago. Guess you could call it a dead end.” Tony scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the meager dose of caffeine weakly kick at his hindbrain. He hadn’t bothered to sleep the night before. The need for results was a searing burn in his chest, inseparable from the ache of the reactor, and it only grew stronger as time ticked down to whatever horror waited down the line.  

 

“This is useless,” Loki sneered, “Do your machines know _anything_ but failure?”

 

Tony grit his teeth, too worn for this. “Like _you_ have delivered anything of note?”

 

That got him a reaction, a flash of anger in the pale eyes. But when Loki spoke, there was no real heat, only a bitter statement.

 

“You promised me blood, Stark. So far, it’s been sorely lacking.”

 

Tony looked back just as flatly.

 

“Guess it has. Bummer, isn’t it?”

 

There was a long moment before Loki abruptly turned around, grabbing a half-empty cup off a table. “I will study the files on the factory fire again.”

 

Tony stared at the narrow back for a moment before returning to his screens, watching as the numbers rolled by.

 

*****

 

Tony awoke to find that the sofa cushion under his head had migrated to the floor during the night. His hair hung limply into his eyes and his cheeks itched madly for a shave as he pushed himself up, feeling his neck twinge.

 

“Jarvis?”

 

“Good morning, sir. Nothing to report, I’m afraid. Your coffee will be ready in a moment.”

 

Tony stared at the hissing espresso machine, already emitting thin tendrils of steam, and felt his stomach churn.   

 

“Hold the coffee, Jarvis. Is Loki awake?”

 

“Indeed, sir.” Behind him, he could hear the sound of metal on metal as the vault door swung open. Loki appeared in his line of vision a moment later, disdainfully taking in his rumpled t-shirt and stubbly face.

 

“Finally. I grow weary with your lethargy, Stark.”

 

Swinging his feet to the floor, Tony rolled his eyes. “It’s only been--” A quick check at the nearest screen- “five hours. Don’t tell me you’ve been up waiting for me?”

 

“I’m wasting valuable time, locked up while you snore. Ask your hellish servant if you will not take my word for it.” 

 

“Sorry darling, but I’m not letting you roam by your unattended self in my workshop. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t trust you. Jarvis?”

 

 “It’s true that Mr. Loki has been awake for the last hour,” came the smooth voice. “Most of it spent pacing.”

 

Tony sighed. “Why not just sleep?”

 

“Sleep? I want _revenge_ , Stark, and I want it _now_.”

 

“You and me both,” Tony muttered.

 

Loki ignored him and went over to the monitors, flipping through windows with quick flicks of the fingers. He’d taken to the menus and windows with unthinking ease, but now, none of it wiped the frown off his face. “Nothing.”

 

Tony groaned and let his head fall back against the sofa. This wasn’t working.

 

He could feel another frustrated all-nighter coming on already and he hadn’t even reached breakfast yet. Awesome. 

 

*****

 

Next time Tony awoke, it was to someone roughly shaking his shoulder, jostling his face over the keyboard.  With a groan, he weakly slapped the hand aside, blinking against the harsh light. When had he fallen asleep?

 

Clint raised an eyebrow as he straightened up in his chair, nodding to where Loki crouched vulture-like over a screen, emoting disinterest in the both of them. “This is how you keep guard?”

 

“Relax, Barton. Jarvis is on the job.” In fact, Clint and Natasha both had been looming over his shoulder as he set up the parameters for Loki’s access, making sure their guest wouldn’t even be able to play solitaire without alarm bells going off.

 

“Online, yes. He strangles you in your sleep, I won’t cry at your funeral.”

 

“Whatever. If you came down here for news, I’ve got nothing. So get lost,” Tony grouched, ignoring the way the world gently spun as he waved his arm. When was the last time he ate?

 

“No can do, Stark. I’m here to escort you- both of you- to breakfast.”

 

“Barton, on the list of useless thing I really don’t have any time for right now, a breakfast date with you ranks somewhere between re-potting the houseplants and finally getting to grips with my retirement fund.”

 

*****

 

“You dragged me up here for _this._ Assholes,” Tony grumbled, poking at the dry excuse for bacon on his plate. “As far as SHIELD-fare goes, I’d have had a tastier and more nutritious meal had I boiled my shoes. We’re wasting our time.”

 

“If you had enough sense to eat or rest once in a while, we wouldn’t have to do this,” said Natasha, refilling her teacup. “You’re forcing our hands.”

 

“Besides,” added Steve, “News from downstairs hasn’t exactly been forthcoming. Any success?”

 

“Have you awoken in the night from my screams of triumph?”

 

“That bad?”

 

Tony stabbed his fork at the bacon like it had personally affronted him. It shattered with a sad _crack_. “ _Yes._ So I don’t have time for this.”

 

Bruce sighed. “It’s not just that. Tony, you have us worried. On more than one account.”

 

Clint slid a dark telling glance over at Loki, silent and stiff in his seat.

 

“Oh come on guys, we have _talked_ about this-“

 

“Tony, listen,” Bruce cut him off. “We’ve got a dangerous, half-mad, utterly reckless man- caring only for bloody revenge- loose in that lab day and night.”

 

Loki looked up, face twisted in a bitter sneer. Natasha nodded gravely.

 

“Yes. Loki, why didn’t you stop him?”

 

The god blinked, caught by surprise for a moment before a suggestion of an actual smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

 

“That if I could. But I’m afraid I am forced to indulge him. Half-mad or not, he has things I need.”

 

Tony spluttered, glaring as Natasha and Bruce all but high-fived each other and the rest of his teammates grinned into their coffee cups. “I resent that!

 

“You’re hardly the most balanced person right now, Tony,” Bruce said, still smiling.

 

“Is this that you’ve spent the last few days doing? Attempting mediocre comedy and plotting against me?”

 

Steve snorted. “You’re being stupid. Pace your strength. You’ll gain nothing by driving yourself this hard.”

 

“Spoken like a true soldier,“ Tony muttered.

 

Natasha pushed another bagel his way. “We understand your mission, Tony. We’re behind you. But we do worry that you’re being counterproductive.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes, not wanting to admit just how _good_ the sub-par breakfast had felt going down. “Great, wonderful. Brutuses, the lot of you.”

 

They had a point, not that he wanted to admit it. The Ten Rings were proving far more difficult than anticipated. Maybe it should be considered a sign of friendship that they had decided to gang up on him in order to drive the point home. Didn’t mean he had to take it lying down, though.

 

“If you’re going to drag me away from my work, it’s got to be for something better than SHIELD’s soylent green and your vibrant company. Sorry, guys, thanks for the horrible coffee, but see you later.”

 

He rose from the table, chugging back the last watery mouthful as he went. Loki drifted mutedly to his side, impatience in the set of his shoulders.  

 

No one protested, but the glances being traded around the table spoke volumes. Tony sighed. “Say what. We’re practically in the laps of some of the best chefs in the world, so send SHIELD for some take-out- _real_ food- and I might even be persuaded to join you for dinner. Four Michelins or the deal’s off. Hold the garlic.”

 

*****

 

Tony was nose-deep in interrogation transcripts and ignoring his cramping neck when he suddenly felt Loki go still behind him. He turned to peer at his companion, heart skipping a heady beat at the sharp glimmer in Loki’s eyes. A shark, smelling blood. “You got something.”

 

Loki hummed an agreement, deep in his throat, a sound carrying threat and satisfaction in equal measure. Tony pushed himself up, all pains forgotten for the prospect of _success_ , not allowing himself to think of all red herrings they’d stumbled on before. “Tell me.”

 

“The factory fire.” The desk before Loki was covered in crumpled papers, every last scrap of documentation from the Sao Paulo car plant security detail. They were a pain in the ass to wade through – every last one of his factories were now up for a major technological leap forwards. “Every Friday, this man-” a long, thin finger stabbed a scribbled signature on one of the papers – “arrives to take carpets for cleaning. But two days before the fire, he signed out half an hour later than usual.”

 

Tony grinned, bending over to look at the screen. “You’re the man! And this is…? His bank account?”

 

“No.” Loki all but purred. “His wife’s brother’s.”

 

“Not to shoot you down, but this isn’t the Norwegian granny all over, is it?”

 

Loki slid a hand over the screen, highlighting a line. “No.  _This_ is probably meant for his kinsman, but there has been money passing through this account for years.” More highlights lit up the screen. “Far too much money for this commoner.”

 

“Sloppy, sloppy! I’ll tell Fury to bring in our brother-in-law. He’s probably just a grunt, but if he’s been at it for years he’ll know _something_.” He squeezed Loki’s shoulder, excitement pooled in the pit of his stomach. “Should’ve known better than to turn to the family. It always gets messy.”

 

Loki tensed, just slightly, but he still smiled, sharp and bloodthirsty. “I should know, Stark. Don’t dawdle, now. We have prey to hunt down.”

 

*****

 

That warm fuzzy feeling of companionship lasted exactly as long as it took for the good news to come back from SHIELD’s local Brazil division. Whereupon it quickly was in short supply.  

 

“No. Absolutely not.”

 

“Oh, come _on_.”

 

“I have stated my part. You will _not_ go and spill the blood of our enemies whist leaving me behind to rot. Or are you an oath breaker as well as a fraud?”

 

“They won’t let you travel halfway across the world just to interrogate some two-bit underling! It’s me or nothing.”

 

“So already you are breaking our covenant. How can you call yourself a _hero_ then your words are not even worth the breath you spend to utter them?”  

 

Tony threw his arms up in the air, stomping off to throw himself down on the sofa. Across the room, Loki was a frozen statue of thin-lipped silent rage. Tony loudly stared at the ceiling until he heard quick, angry steps and the bathroom door slamming shut. The sound of the shower running followed while he still fumed silently, jaw working.

 

Sure, of course he could go. Easily. It wasn’t like Loki could do one damn thing to stop him. But if he did, their makeshift deal was clearly off as far as Loki was concerned. Back to square one – scratch that, they’d crash screaming into negative numbers. This was it, moment of truth; if Loki decided that Tony had bailed out on their deal now, there’d be no second chance.

 

He _needed_ to act now that they had finally sniffed out a trail, the urge to bury a gauntleted hand in the Ten Ring’s collective face an almost physical itch beneath his skin- Bruce would give him that guilt-tripping puppy look no doubt. He needed to be _there_ , and now the resident prissy god wanted him to sit it out, leave it to SHIELD, on some childish ‘if I can’t have fun, _no-one_ shall’-basis?

 

Redemption officially clocked in as the shittiest game ever, and it really didn’t help that this time it was just by proxy.

 

“Jarvis?” he said, flopping the lumpy pillow over his face to strangle the urge to scream. “Get us some popcorn. We got a show to catch.”

 

*****

 

The live-feed was grainy, but the sound came through loud and clear, clear enough to hear the raspy, pained sound of labored breathing. Tony clenched one hand, swallowing down the thickness in his throat. The guy had brought this upon himself; let SHIELD chew him up. He glanced sideways. Loki’s face was a study in intense concentration, no conflicting emotions there. Tony almost envied him. Almost.

 

“They left the orders in my church. Underneath a pew. I just picked them up, never saw anyone...” Jarvis’ monotone translation fell silent as the handcuffed man coughed again, wetly. “They said to burn down the Stark factory. I hired guys but they chickened out. I shouldn’t have asked Jorge, but Frank came by one night and said I was running out of time. So I had to get it done.”

 

An arm in a dark jacket appeared on the screen, leaning in to press a plastic bottle to the prisoner’s lips. He swallowed, heedless big gulps, water running over his chin.

 

“You’re doing great, Emerico. Tell me of Frank,” a voice asked off screen, even, almost kind. “Is he a friend?” 

 

Emerico – _I didn’t need to know his_ _name_ – hung his head. “Big guy. Huge. He’s the one who set me up, he’s the one the top guys talks to. At least he always said so. One guy tried to bail once and Frank… I found his hand in my bed, you know? His _hand_.”

 

Thank god the man was talking. Tony had no wish to see SHIELD’s interrogation team in action. So maybe he was glad Loki had thrown that hissy fit. This was… this was necessary. His friends were on the line, countless of people made targets just because Tony Stark signed their paychecks. But damn, he wanted to be a better man than this.

 

_Hypocrite._

 

On screen, the man slurred on. “…said that the big guys were getting angry. Said… said they were making an example of Stark.  Someone named Szabo had been on him about it. He was all jittery, too. Scared shitless. Freaked me out.”              

    

Tony muttered a curse under his breath, a wave of hot anger coursing through him, suffocating it its intensity. Better to focus on the details. That’s where you found the devils, and the jackpots. “Szabo’s alive. Damn. I’d hoped he lay squashed under a mountain right now.”

 

Loki tore his eyes from the screen, slanting him a questioning look under dark lashes. “The leader of the Ten Rings was in the cave?”

 

“Didn’t you meet him? He’s in some of your... the footage. Rude not to introduce himself. Jarvis, jog his memory.”

 

The picture that appeared in a corner of the screen was dark, paparazzi-like in its quality, but Istvan Szabo’s square jaw and intense eyes were easy enough to make out.

 

Loki stared intently at the image for a long moment, then smiled, razor sharp and cold as ice. “Grieve not, Stark. I _do_ know that face, and I wish to have a _long_ reunion with him before Hel claims him. Very long indeed.”


	21. There’s Always A Bigger Fish

Tony was trying his best to sleep, dimly aware he was tossing and turning on the narrow couch while trying to convince himself that it was a better idea than staying awake for a few more searches. It was a losing battle. The sudden sound of Jarvis’ voice was a blessing.

 

“Sir, if you would?”

 

One of the screens had blinked alive as he opened his eyes, blue and shimmering in the dark room. It was eerily silent, even for the basement. Not morning yet. Jarvis waking him was either very bad or very good.

 

“Shoot.”

 

“A message from agent Hill. They have successfully apprehended one Frank Münther and two associates. Transferring the contents of his hard drive along with other records now.”

 

Tony let out an explosive breath. “Finally. Fucking _finally_. Lights.” 

 

He swung his legs off the sofa, pausing on the edge. If Loki was playing them, this would be his lynchpin. It was Loki who’d found the needle in the haystack, the trail that had led them here. So maybe it‘d be a good idea to keep this data to himself. Just to be sure. Just to test the waters. He could give it a few hours before Loki woke up.

 

As the room came to life, he scrubbed his hand across his face, then gave a scornful snort and strode towards the vault. Second-guessing himself was a habit he was far too old to pick up. The door swung open before him and the thin body on the bed jerked up, head whipping towards him before his guest seemed to catch himself.

 

“Stark.” A hoarse whisper.

 

“The one and only. Get up, we’ve got work to do.”   

 

Two cups of coffee later they say side by side, Tony cracking the frankly laughable encryptions, Loki pulling the information apart, names and dates dancing by under his fingers. A perfect flow. Excitement and impatience mingling, filling him with an energy he hadn’t felt in days. He flicked another file Loki’s way and he caught it without looking, opening it up and letting data spill over the screen.

 

“Encrypted. Again.”

 

“Can you break it?” Tony muttered, not pausing in his typing.

 

Loki snorted. “Of course. This is child’s play. I broke ciphers like this before I stopped wearing frocks.”

 

Tony blinked, temporarily torn away from the screen. “Frocks? Like, dresses?”

 

Loki spared him an annoyed glance before returning to his work. “Yes. Like all babes.”

 

“Oh.” Tony blinkered again, still thrown. “Right, then.”

 

*****

 

By the time Natasha appeared on the stairs, the contents of the hard drive had been pulled neatly apart, spread over the screens across the room. It was a candy store, an Aladdin’s cave of treasure. It was more than he’d ever dreamed off. Names, dates, aliases, money trails -enough to send the entirety of SHIELD scurrying like busy little bees. Good ol’Frank, a stupid man and a true lifesaver.

 

“Romanov! How fares my favorite spy today?”

 

“You’re in a good mood,” she said, bending to peer at one of the monitors.

 

“Better than good. I hope Fury is up to his ass in my data by now because if not, he’s frankly not doing his job.”

 

That got him a raised eyebrow and little else. “I’ve heard. I take it that means your part of the work is done for now.”

 

“Oh, trying to play _that_ game, are we?”

 

“Consider it a celebration. The rest of us would like a chance to say ‘well done’. You _said_ you’d come eat if we ordered take-away from some frighteningly expensive place.” 

 

“I might have done that. I usually hope that no one pays attention to what I’m actually _saying_. It almost always works.”

 

“Get upstairs, Stark. The sun is shining, and SHIELD can handle things for now.”

 

*****

 

“That _is_ some improvement.”

 

The harsh sunlight flooded the patio, bouncing off the newly plastered walls and the sparkling blue water to the pool. If it wasn’t for the empty windows in the east wing, Loki’s rampage might never have happened. The god didn’t seem overly pleased by the fact, frowning slightly at the brand new furniture, disappointingly free of soot stains. Tony paused in the door, arms flung wide to embrace the scene.

 

“And civilization is restored! And not a sweaty workman in sight, either. Awesome. Just awesome. Remind me to kiss Fury next time I see him.”

 

Natasha snorted. “Kiss Steve instead, it’s all his doing. I’ve never seen a man so motivational, the rebuilding team all but worshipped at his feet.”

 

“I will certainly kiss Steve. As soon as I find– evening Captain, how are you?”

 

“ _Just_ fine,” Steve said from the doorway where he’d just appeared, wisely staying out of kissing range. Tony winked as he swept by, dragging a reluctant smile out of him.

 

“Does this mean you’ve worked all of your clean-up urges out of your body now? I hope it does.”

 

“If you could see the state of your kitchen, you’d stop wishing,” Steve replied as he followed them towards the shaded dinner table. “We’re far from done.”

 

“Hence the take-out, yeah, yeah.” Tony froze mid-step as his eyes swept over the table. “…Shawarma. You actually ordered _shawarma_?”

 

“Gourmet shawarma,” Steve corrected him, happily sliding into his seat and helping himself to a generous serving. “Local specialty. And we didn’t, we just told SHIELD to get something from the most expensive restaurant in town.”

 

Tony all but fell into his chair, despair written all over his face. “Don’t believe I don’t see you smirking there, Rogers. Way to go being a national icon, enjoying the misfortune of others. Shame on you.”

 

Steve laughed outright. “Don’t worry, they sent some grilled camel as well.”

 

*****

 

In the end, Loki ate most of the camel, polishing it off with way more finesse than a guy gnawing on a bone should be able to possess. Tony munched down his share with surprising relish, feeling some of the buzz drain from his body, leaving exhaustion in its wake. As much as he wanted to get back to work, he knew they’d pulled every last scrap of information out of their data. The ball was with SHIELD for now, and until Jarvis came back with news, it was a waiting game.

 

Tony Stark didn’t _do_ waiting games.

 

Still, Tony Stark _did_ understand the delicate game of reciprocity, even if he didn’t give much for it. Maybe because he hadn’t played it against the likes of Natasha Romanov before. They’d all given him the time he’d needed to get to that hard drive, and now it was clearly time to pay back his dues. So he stayed at the table, talking, laughing, allowing – _forcing_ – himself to push the impatience to the back of his mind while he gave them all the rundown on their progress. They’d all been briefed, but briefings always missed out the small details.

 

“So right now, SHIELD should be bringing the fist down on most of the Ten Rings’ s South American operations.”

 

“That’s the idea. Or at least the cells in Brazil and Argentina. Seems Münther had some idea to create a life insurance for himself with that hard drive.”

 

“Sloppy. Or just too good to be true?” Bruce mused.

 

Tony took another swallow of beer. “The idea struck me too. We should know soon enough. Just hope Münther’s arrest didn’t send them all packing. Hill wanted us to stick to secure channels until they’ve moved in in case our lines are compromised, so we’re in a bit of radio silence for now. Heard anything, Barton?”

 

Clint pressed one hand to his earpiece, crooking his head as he listened. “Sitwell. Saying they’re finalizing the verification of the data – seems legit- and will move within the hour.”

 

Tony sighed. “If I haven’t clawed the curtains to ribbons in that hour, I’ll give myself a medal for my iron self-restraint.”

 

Clint raised an eyebrow. “They’ll _move_ within the hour. As in, _starting_ the operation. If I were you, I wouldn’t wait up for the results.”

 

Groaning, Tony flickered a look at Natasha for confirmation, grimly taking another swig of beer when she nodded.

 

A whole day to kill. Sure, the data could use another analysis, and there was eating, and that thing called sleeping, had to give that another go one of those days. Shaving? Good stuff, or so he’d heard.

 

Or maybe it was time for a good ol’ Team Building Exercise.

 

*****

 

The _Peppermint_ rolled gently in the blue water, basking in the mid-day sun. The mild breeze carried with it the scents of sand and saltwater, exotic sensations after days underground in the sterile air of the workshop. Loki leaned against the railing of the small vessel, the slick feeling of plastic under his hands. Such a strange boat, built neither for passage nor goods but simply for pleasure.

 

Would that it had been built bigger. The small deck was claustrophobic despite the expanses of open sea stretched out around it, with six persons sharing the space. Turning his back on it all did little to shield him from the prattle of voices and the unwanted sensation of other bodies too close for comfort.

 

He had thought Stark jesting – had _wanted_ him to jest, had wanted nothing more than to continue the hunt. But somewhere the man had found a new burst of vigor, smattering orders to the Voice, leading and herding his guests down to the pier. In every inch the insufferable lord in his hall, Loki wryly noted, not taking no for an answer and barely noticing it had been uttered in the first place.

 

The others had made it easy for him. Not even a show of token protests, all too pleased to get Iron Man to admit the weakness of his mortal form and relax. He made a small sound of disgust, fingers drumming a staccato against the railing. Foolishness. So utterly human to waver from the hunt so hastily.

 

“No, no, _I’m_ good,” came the sound of a familiar voice behind him. “Is there something wrong with working hard? Because if there is, I don’t want to know about it. I’m just focused on the mission. Mr. Hollow-eyed and High-strung over there, though…”

 

Loki glanced over his shoulder, taking in the sight of Tony Stark all but balancing on the edge of his seat, fingers flying over a ridiculously complicated fishing rod even as the words all but tumbled out of his mouth. The dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises on his unshaved face. The Widow caught Loki’s eyes and rolled her eyes. Bemused, he turned to stare back out over the water.

 

So many parameters. The hunt was a blessing. A purpose, an obtainable goal, the sweet prospect of violence and blood – and maybe, if he was candid at least to himself, an excuse to forget for a while the curse Odin had placed upon him. 

 

It was considerably easier to forget one’s mortality while hunting down clues on Stark’s monitors than trapped idle on a small vessel in the middle of the sea. He realized his hands were still drumming on the railing and balled them into fists.

 

An utter waste of time.

 

*****

 

“Well, friends, I hope you’re ready for some _real_ fishing!”

 

Not only the boat itself was ridiculous in its construction, the gear it carried boarded on the insulting – rods with cranks and levers, chairs to strap oneself into during the fight.  Where was the honor in taking on prey with weapons as these? Who would boast of a kill that had been facilitated by such contraptions?

 

Stark and Barton were soon all but lost to the world, transfixed eyes tracking every movement of the thin wire. Loki sighed and slid down onto the seat next to Romanov, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

 

“I _do_ understand the need to get the idiot to eat and sleep, Agent. But why do _I_ have to suffer along with him?”

 

She smiled, offering him a bottle of brown liquid. “I’m afraid the alternative isn’t much better. And you look like you could use some of that food and rest yourself, you know.”

 

The drink was…odd, sweet and malty at once, utterly alien. He took another swig just to let it swirl over his tongue. “I’m far more resilient than a mere mortal.”

 

“Hmm. Yes, so it would seem. I must admit a fishing trip was not what we had in mind for today,” she replied with a hint of an apology in her voice. “Still, if you’re so eager not to waste time, it’s been a while since we had a… talk.”

 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh? Let us not turn Stark’s happy little fishing trip into a screaming match, it would be incredibly rude.”

 

“It would,” she agreed pleasantly, leaning back to let the sun play over her face.

 

Silence settled over the bench, broken only by jubilant shouts and heartfelt groans from the stern as the battle between fish and man commenced. Loki ignored them, letting his eyes track the gulls soaring above.

 

SHIELD _had_ been… considerate. To promise assistance in Odin’s plan was one thing, to allow Loki – support him, even – in seeking revenge against their own kind another. Yes, he was hunting Fury’s enemies, and while he’d never call him an ally, they both had things to gain. Maybe a gracious concession or two were in order. Just for now.

 

“I told you the truth,” he said, eyes still following the birds. “Thanos has turned his eyes away from this world. Midgard has nothing to fear now, not with Thor acting your guardian.” 

 

She hummed under her breath. “Thor is a good man. But sometimes, too much attention from the gods is worse than none at all.”

 

“Maybe it would have been better for us all had he never come here.”

 

“Him, and the things that followed in his wake. The thought has crossed my mind,” she replied, slanting him a thoughtful look. “But had he not, we would have stood alone against the attack when it came. I can’t help but think that with you or without you, Thanos would’ve come for the Tesseract.”

 

“Probably,” he admitted. “Maybe not now, or in a decade or a hundred years, but he would have found it in the end. His heart yearns for it with a burning ferocity.”

 

“A ferocity now turned towards Asgard?” 

 

She always heard the unsaid things, the words lurking underneath the surface. He sighed, weary of the idea. It gnawed on his mind enough as it was, without letting it see the light of day.

 

“I do not fear for Asgard. An army that met defeat by mere humans holds no threat for the Realm Eternal.”

 

“I hope you’re right,” she said, and he believed her.

 

They sat silent for a while, quiet observers while the rest clustered around the fishing rods. Stark had another beer in his hand. If he nursed a sore head tomorrow, Loki vowed he’d be merciless.

 

The lines disappeared in their foamy wake, dragged along behind the boat as they slowly glided through the water. He wondered idly what kind of beast swam in these waters. Surely nothing too impressive. The bait remained untouched, so maybe there wasn’t anything at all to be found below.

 

Hopefully Stark would come to the same realization soon, and return to more important matters.

 

As if he’d heard him, Stark abandoned the rod to a protesting Banner and all but collapsed on the bench beside him, raising his bottle in a sarcastic salute. “Hey there. Enjoying the fresh air?”

 

Loki gave him a glance. “Do you _suppose_ I do?”

 

“Hardly. Time wasted, right?” He slid his eyes over at Natasha before returning to look him square in the eye. “Bear with me.”

 

Loki was not the only one dancing a delicate dance around Romanov’s employers. He nodded, curtly, and Stark took another deep swig from his bottle and all but collapsed, body going limb and boneless as he relaxed against the sunwarm wood.

 

Stark was the smart one between them, resting because he had no other choice. Loki would no more let go of the nagging impatience than he would allow it to shine through, and so he sat there, slowly sipping his drink as time dragged painfully on.

 

A shout from the stern, a flurry of movement as the rod was almost torn out of Barton’s hand.  Finally, it seemed something had caught the hook. Loki rose and drifted over to the railing, more out of a sense of bored curiosity than anything else. Barton strained against the railing with all his might, fingers white as they hung on. Maybe there was something to all those clasps and gears after all. The Captain was eagerly scanning the waters for a first glimpse as Barton turned the crank inch by painful inch, fighting a battle against his hidden opponent in a way that suddenly reminded Loki of that disastrous time Thor had decided to bring home a sea serpent as a trophy.

 

Cautiously, he took a small step back.  

 

No one else seemed to have any such qualms though, and it was silly, worrying over whatever meager beasts Midgard might produce. Even Banner was right there next to Barton, staring into the rolling waves.

 

The rod all but slipped out of Barton’s frantic grip and Stark laughed from the bench. “I guess it’s cheating to just lock the rod down?”

 

“Damn right it is,” Barton grunted, not taking his eyes off the line as it frantically zig-zagged through the water. “ _Cheating_ , Stark.”

 

“Suit yourself. It’s your palms. I’m not kissing them and making it better when you’ve torn all the skin off.”

 

Barton just gritted his teeth and hung on against another mighty tug at the line. Loki thought for a moment that it might snap altogether. Maybe this was a worthy battle, after all. Whatever lurked below, it was strong. Enduring.

 

But the same could be said about Hawkeye, and with a final yank, he forced his opponent to show itself.

 

Spectacularly.

 

A sleek, gleaming body exploded from the water, arching high though the air as the animal thrashed wildly. Loki had only a second to note the bony blade sticking out from its snout and the great hook stuck through its cheek before realizing that it’d clear the side of the boat and then pandemonium erupted as the heavy body slammed into the deck of the boat, scattering people and fishing gears around it.

 

With blade and all, it was nearly the length of a man, and Barton jumped away, cursing. One of the stools went flying and Banner stumbled back, up against the railing at Loki’s side, and Loki didn’t have the time to shy away before the _stupid_ fish wrenched itself their way; lodged between the thrashing blade and the thinly veiled monster that was Banner he had to twist and jump awkwardly to avoid getting skewered.

 

Banner wasn’t so fast. With a shout, the human lurched backwards, back against nothing but the low barrister, and Loki could see it all play out, sluggishly slow and insanely fast at the same time, Banner wild-eyed and openmouthed as he went over. Suddenly the future held an imminent threat of Hulk, and in the confined space there would be no escaping his rage.

 

No. No no _no_. He surged forward, hands grabbing the lapels on the man’s coat, nearly getting dragged along with him into the water. The railing caught him at the last moment, digging painfully into his stomach as he hung there, staring into Banner’s eyes and swearing he could see the greenish tint bloom out over skin.

 

He nearly let go again. Not _here,_ not on a boat in the middle of the sea, not this _close_.

 

He took a breath, feeling his chest constrict with the effort, not daring to move, not knowing what to say as Banner gasped for air, staring straight through him with eyes that flowed from brown to green and back again.

 

Then strong hands grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him up, Banner dragged along with him as the Captain easily lifted them both back onboard. He forced his hands open and stepped back as the doctor collapsed on the deck, all of them giving him a wide berth as he gasped for air.

 

Loki’s heart thundered in his chest hard enough for the blood to pound in his ears. Suddenly Stark was there, kneeling by Banner’s side and Loki wanted to _scream_ at him to get away, because Banner was at the edge, right at the edge, and the wrong word right now would _end_ them.

 

Stark put one hand on Banner’s shoulder and Loki could _feel_ the inhaled breath going through the group.

 

“Buddy? Bruce?” Stark murmured, softly, steadily.

 

And Banner looked up at him, shakily drawing a deep breath, and forced out a smile.

 

Loki spun on his heels and stalked as far away from the group as he could get.

 

*****

 

“Nice catch there.”

 

Loki glanced at Rogers as they all walked up from the small pier on Stark’s island. “Thank you, Captain.” It was a stiff reply, but Rogers just nodded and walked on, leaving him to follow more slowly. The Captain was not a man of many words.   

 

Ahead of him, Banner was mumbling something to Stark, Stark who was hovering by his side, one hand on his arm, and Loki had to admit a grudging admiration for the pure death-defying brazenness of it. The Monster looked shaken, pale and drawn, sweat soaking the collar of his coat. He paused by one of the walkways disappearing into the lush garden.

 

“I think I’d better… get some rest. I’m sorry for today.”

 

Stark rolled his eyes. “Sorry for what? You kept it together. Despite the surprise swordfish. I mean, I just about shat my pants there for a moment myself.”

 

Banner laughed, short and sharp, and glanced back at Loki.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.” The words were heavy in his mouth, but he smiled, and Banner mumbled something under his breath before slipping away.

 

Loki had a feeling there would be no more sneaking up on him and whispering in his ear.

 

He and Stark walked back to the lab in silence, the agents trailing after them like dark shadows in the sunshine. They reached the basement staircase, Loki pausing as the smell of fresh wood and paint wafted up towards them. Stark made a small, pleased sound.

 

“Seems like they’re done. And on time, too.”

 

Whatever had his host been up to now? Loki quickened his steps down into the lab, the scents growing stronger as he thrust the door open.

 

There was a new wall cutting though the room, obscuring the vault beyond. Plain and featureless, freshly painted, with only a solid door in the middle breaking up the surface. 

 

“Good, good.”

 

He turned and raised an eyebrow at Stark as the man swaggered in after him.

 

“What is this?”

 

“Your new rooms. Thought we might as well, with us being out all day. I _did_ promise you an en suite, in case you’d forgotten.”

 

Definitely curious now, he wandered over to rest a hand against the metal door. It swung open before him, revealing the open vault beyond, his bed awaiting within. In the space between the old wall and the new a room had been formed, modest in size but spacious compared to his previous sleeping quarters. 

 

A sofa had been wedged in on one side, the table in front of it filling most of the remaining space. A sliding screen in milky white on the right hid most of the rest of the room from view.

 

Stark leaned up against the door frame behind him as Loki inquiringly pushed it aside. “Just a loo and a shower. Nothing fancy. But at least now you’re free to shower your nights away.”

 

“So I am.” Nothing fancy, indeed not, but the gleaming porcelain and the starkly white walls at least created the illusion of airiness in the small space.

 

He turned slowly in a circle, mulling it all over. A… gift? Maybe so. Stark was letting his guard down, in more ways than one.

 

“Well, I suppose it _is_ an improvement. Incrementally.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking by me, dear readers! As always, I thrive on feedback!
> 
> I haven't TOTALLY wasted my time away since the last chapter; check out my one-shot frostiron fic _Do Ut Des_ while you're at it!  
>  http://archiveofourown.org/works/744756  
> (Just read the tags first, will you?)


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